Going To See

He packed his glasses first. He chose new shades
to start. His feet were heavy, his head, light
as clouds over waters that part. His way
was clear. He’d let stars pick his leaving time.
Come Sunday, a whistle blew and his blue door
swung wide. He touched his glasses case for luck
before going. The sky was tricky, more
drawn than painted. His key finished the lock.
Afoot! He thinks, eyes not seeing his path.
But brave, half-blind, he starts to feel his way,
put distance between himself and his map.
His eyes would be in charge his feet followed.
The first fall didn’t hurt. There would be more,
he knew. He’d look at everything allowed.