Blindspot

I can’t see the trees for the forest.

Blind and needy, I peel back the bark with rough movements

And trembling hands, exposing crawling and desperate

Insects and the red raw life at the core of my sightlessness.

My self so close to the tree - at first I am overwhelmed by the sweet scent

Smashing my face inside.

Having invaded so carelessly, and with such rush, soon

I am dizzy, repulsed -

Nauseated by the suddenness of the present.