my eye
was born
in the stirring of the sky
a painted ingot
fired with the dawn
burning at the dam’s
early light
a dividing wall
eroded
and a river ran from
the zenith
a molten composition
cast
upon the cotton ball sky
cooling
it cracked in a crinkling
with it
my arrogance
that once I could see
nothing
of the world I took for granted
hardening in
the light
bursting through
the stirring in the sky
giving birth
to my eye.

∞

Submitted as part of “National/Global Poetry Writing Month” (#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo).

Today’s prompt: Day Eighteen: “Today, challenges us to write a poem based on the title of one of the chapters from Susan G. Wooldridge’s Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words. The book’s table of contents can be viewed using Amazon’s “Look inside” feature.”

Author’s Note: