Sightlines
by Janet Kenny
Old architect and draftsman had in hand
and eye the stretch of light and line,
the taut,
the tight, the free, the deep. And so the grand
old man did not fear blindness as he sought
the elements that bound him to the earth.
Beneath his tennis shade he drew it in,
the saturated harbour that was worth
a thousand views of Venice.
With his thin
sun-weathered fingers he allowed his skill
to lead his fading eyes into the glare
forbidden by his doctor.
Only will
could re-ignite his vision. He stared down
the sun that splashed the water in his mind
and dived deep in the light he knew would drown
his reason with the sight that made him blind.