Sight

It's been a while since I posted some poetry. Since I'm pretty sure I'll need glasses in the next year, here's a piece by Milosz about eyes.

Eyes

  My most honorable eyes, you are not in the best of shape.
  I receive from you an image that is less than sharp,
  And if a color, then it's dimmed.
  And you were a pack of royal greyhounds once,
  With whom I would set out early mornings.
  My wondrous quick eyes, you saw many things,
  Lands and cities, islands and oceans.
  Together we greeted immense sunrises
  When the fresh air set us running on trails
  Where the dew had just begun to dry.
  Now what you have seen is hidden inside me
  And changed into memories or dreams.
  I am slowly moving away from the fairgrounds of the world
  And I notice in myself a distaste
  For the monkeyish dress, the screams and the drumbeats.
  What a relief. To be alone with my meditation
  On the basic similarity in humans
  And their tiny grain of dissimilarity.
  Without eyes, my gaze is fixed on one bright point,
  That grows large and takes me in.