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Ahead of me and holding both of the double doors with both arms, a… - fingersweep [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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[Apr. 27th, 2016|08:04 pm]
Ahead of me and holding both of the double doors with both arms, a young man (18-21 yrs). He turns his left eye toward me and then -- as I thank him -- his right where the eye would have been. No patch: only a sort of dark, indentation of eye, a shade of eye underneath flesh where the socket was -- maybe sewn as a wound is, the scar the place where eye turns to day, to eye.

On the back of his neck -- and when I saw it the edge of my shock wore off, turned transfigured into something new, recognition (a seeing-from-behind, from the back, as though we’d known this face and known it well though we can’t remember it, not yet (yet...)) I understood better later -- on the back of his neck was a tattoo of an eye open wide, lashes blue and spoked like light.

Wheels within some wheel immense, its incurved angle known could we know the two farthest ways to the edge, know the last circum-cresting plunge where water meets air as fish seabirds over falls, and then dives like some beast or porpoiselike thing down from the verge, thousandeye scales flashing over the seafloor, phantom like and roving from place to place, where dark isn't and day isn't yet (there are waves, oceans of waves beyond these below on the peninsula, but those are out of sight, out of earshot almost, though the wind that lifts them, sails, foam-white, before we've heard it already it's here at the door. News comes after the guest, the stranger. The weight, the sparkling splash). The seeing that supposes and whose force, persuasion.

There was Wotan, in Wagner, whose eye flipped and fell inward, behind his throat, when he pulled the limbs from the Ash Tree and gave it up for power (’...if a man gives up poetry for power,/he shall have lots of power’). That was inspired. Maybe he knew how good it was.