The Eye: A Poem on Memory, Perception, and Reflected Realities

“But you do not really see the eye.”

— Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus

The Eye

The rain has ceased late in the afternoon,

 the surroundings have muted, 

the world around is still,

 there are mute puddles in the parking lot,

 a train bursts suddenly,

leaving no one at the station,

 my consciousness attends to this universe

 thanks to the eye that has invented it,

 just as it did invent, 

that dubious image of your face reflected

 in one of those puddles in the parking lot

 I have come to  add the recesses of the memories of my

 face to yours inside the soiled water in the puddle

two absconded images that lie side by side here or else

in the depths of our minds, that estranged world

 that the eye constantly attempts to subvert

 which is precisely  what turns out

to be what is taking place now…

I  don’t know which of the two is operational now…

What do you think Dulcipuddle?