My eyes, when open,
scribble
something on the filmy airscreen.
My eyes, when open,
penetrate
past the veil of fetid air
to search the unseeable.
My eyes, when closed,
strive to make out
the darting spirit within.
My eyes, when closed,
paint black and white patterns
on the canvas of the dark,
Picasso in his documentary
Guernica before the full
Kandinsky eruption
of colour.