They have retained their lustre,
yet it is dark beneath closed lids.
They filter light to conjure colour
in dialogue with the brain,
resonant as Shakespearean actors.
Tired after years of looking
and seeing beyond words,
they require lenses,
windows on blurry landscapes
and distorted Giacometti figures.
They are prickling thistles,
friable pillows of delicate capillaries
and nerves tipped with light,
crystalline cameras until cataracts
gather like thunder clouds.
Where is their lustre now?
Kim M. Russell, 28th June 2019
On the final day of Arvon’s #5DayPoetryChallenge in conjunction with #NationalWritingDay, I took Jen Hadfield’s advice and instructions seriously – and I think I scared the cats! However, here is the final draft of my poem, which I have emailed to Friends@Arvon.