At the eye doctor’s office,
under scrutiny of light and lens,
I can read from DAO6 to OFLC3
but below that I’m guessing
what looks like a tent is an A,
and what looks like a flag is F or P.
My vision is slipping before its time;
two lines of the chart have vanished.

When I step outside, a bird is singing
vigorously with so many patterns,
pitches, and cadences, I know
it’s a mockingbird.  My ears
guide me to the streetlamp, but I see
no bird.  I remember when I could
quickly spot his slender gray body
or flash of black and white wings.
I could even see his eyes, and see
his beak open when he sang.
He is really giving this metal lamp
his best audition--what female mocker
wouldn’t want to mate with him?

My eyes catch a vague gray movement
that confirms what my ears knew,
and my brain completes the picture.
With my eyes shut, I distinctly envision
the whole chart, and I sing back
to the mockingbird, his tunes with my lyrics,
easily, all the way down to the tiny EVOTZ2,
my former far-sighted triumph.

Published in theNewerYork

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