The Ancient Dispute
The clever ape looks in the passing glass
and laughs and looks and points and cries and gapes
until he grows accustomed and accepts
the glass’s magic. He passes by aware
and knows it’s there and uses it but
doesn’t think about it much. It’s part of him.
He looks and laughs and gapes and points and cries
into the glass to soothe his passing fancies
and goes on. His life is like a song that fades
and lingers.
. . But the ape is clever
and his wit cleaves he and it, and worries
out the difference till his wit’s division
grows into a second nature, savvier
than the first, more savage, that the ape had learned
to live and love. Now the glass is dark and strange
and rearranges shadows into ghosts
that feign and frighten him. He blinks and thinks
and looks behind the glass.
. . Recognition flits
and passes. Now he’s grown aware he thinks
he knows its magic and is angered by it
though the wonder lingers. Now he raises up
three fingers and beholds them in the glass;
he counts them and considers shapes and sizes.
He’s satisfied and now decides the time
has come. He grips a stone and aims and throws.
The shattered glass gapes back and points and laughs.
The Blinded Eye 
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