The Lens

I remove my glasses and the solid world grows larger.
The hard lines between the bodies disappear.
Fire more than others shows its nature,
Taking on the yonic shape when She appeared
To a poor man in Guadalupe. I
Cannot focus on any single thing.
Lines and spheres interrupt my expanded sight,
Now here, now there like angels taking wing.
Like Blake, Monet, Van Gogh, I do not see
The world as others do, at least for a moment.
But then the homily ends and I come to be
Normal as glasses remove my impediment.
But do these lenses really correct my sight,
Or without them do I finally see things right?

Film of Familiarity

What is this film which obscures and darkens my sight?How did it come to cover up my eyes?Why does it darken treasure to a carnival prizeAnd make a mockery of all that is rightAnd good and beautiful, holy and bright?And what has clouded over the enormous sizeOf the simplest act? Why don’t I riseIn wonder at the brilliance of the night?It is the film of familiarity,Habit and custom cataract my vision,And hang upon my eyes like blinding scales.I must be cleansed by holy humility––So that I can overcome this misprision––But also by art and verse and the telling of tales.