A Hare in My Eye

It hurts less
but still it is scratched,
this eye
that has seen too much.

Flecked with sunshine
and sorrows, lined
with lashes and more
than a hint of crow’s feet,

there is no denying
the damage done.
Massive, that machete
or maybe  the trunk

of a large tree—
branches, bird’s nest
and all.
Probably an oak,

but No,  said the doc,
It’s just a hare
(That’s what I heard.)
and all wounds heal in time.

6 thoughts on “A Hare in My Eye

    1. Michael,

      Thank you. The hair is out, and the eye has quit tearing. It feels a little grainy but no big thing.
      It was hurting when that poem came to mind, but it was when I was typing it that the twist appeared.

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