Being blind
I find
No traces
Of faces
In the loud
Blank crowd
Which might, my memory spark.

My world is not dark.
I see
The outline of post and tree,
Though I can not see
The individual She
(Other than an outline
I am unable to define).

I recall the feel
Of a girl’s high-heel
And the dress
I felt
(‘Twas more belt
Than dress).

I recollect a caress
(Sometimes meant)
And girl’s sweet scent.
And the click
Of heels
As the clock’s tick
Unnoticed, steals.

I can grasp
Elements of the past,
But I am unable to trace
The individual face.
Though, with my sense of touch
I have much
Done, in love or fun.