Sightlines

Sightlines

I’m glad, at my age,
my eyes don’t ask much.

Spoken words compensate
for what I can’t read.

A good magnifying glass
enlarges the printed word.

A thumb and index finger
expand the digital one.

I let them roll
in their bone sockets—
more exercise than need,
no urge to look back.

Content to let them blur the sky,
knowing my mind
will paint what must be seen:
endless beauty
from a world without end.