The Third

Three eyes, one nose, a mouth.

Two eyes visible,

one unseen.

The third eye dips,

dripping a russet color into the right.

A small flaw.

Blue-green hazel ponds

bribe with a promise

of tranquility.

Jade green hills of Vermont

spill across rich,

coffee ground soil.

Goats moan an echo

reflecting the sounds of silk,

rushing in their glassy gaze.

A sweet, dry lavender

is left dangling and latching

to a maple doorframe.

Grabbing a resined apple

of my eye,

I gather myself by the river.

A glimpse of a man appears

seated across from me,

vanishing immediately.

A puddle emerges at the bottom.

I take the rowboat back

to the present part of my mind.

I am here,

about to embark on my beloved path,

yet townsfolk have fears.

My third reassures,

I must keep pace.

I press my boots in crunchy dirt.

Silver cobwebs

capture my face,

a one-eyed raven croaks.

A bustling sound cuts

my ego.

A three-eyed Cuegle bounds.

Waiting for me to dash, to shriek,

I stand there and tilt my head,

feeling his energy spiking through me.

I say, “how familiar you are.

I hold three eyes as well,

one that hides.”

“Closely you will find,

its’ russet color has seeped

into the seen.”

The Cuegle crept, nose to nose,

Looking not at my flaw,

But at my third.

An expansion pulled

at my snow-white skin,

centering my brow— blinking.

The russet marble eye met

the creature’s eye,

not only seeing, but knowing.

Walking beside each other

We see far beyond,

hills of jade green.