EMILY DICKINSON

There, there! See a boy in the middle of a field, with his head up, as it follows a bird that cuts through cotton candy sky. A smile. Sun on the lips. Then a shrill…See the bird hail down at the boy’s feet with a deadly thud.See it stretch its wings out in a final elastic gesture upwards.Now silence.A man in a coat comes up to the bird.He glazes its eyes over with a liquid that reminds the boy of windows in closed down shops.‘What are you doing?’ – The boy asks.‘I’m wiping the shimmering off the bird’s eyes.’ The man replies. Indeed. The boy sees what the man means. ‘Why are you doing this? He continues.The man looks at the boy with hesitation that portends naivety’s last stand.‘So that nobody can look into these eyes trying to spy where the bird has gone...’The man in the coat leaves the field.The boy stares at the bird.The bird rests.

I've seen a Dying Eye
Run round and round a Room –
In search of Something – as it seemed
Then Cloudier become
And then – obscure with Fog
And then – be soldered down
Without disclosing what it be
'Twere blessed to have seen

[E. Dickinson]