Eye Surgery

First a warm blanket and a voice called Joy.

Then oxygen, a faint smell, and a finger monitor.

A stick at the wrist and pressure, a clear-coil tube.

Then a voice called Tan and something pumped.

And a thick paper packet like a vest with an eye hole.

Then nothing but every-colored wallpaper and light.

Watch the light, said a voice and I did.

Then a trip through beige cliffs, sand over arroyos

and nothing like verge.

                                    On the shoulders reddish-

brown mushrooms unfurl into copper trumpets.

A long drive then a turn then a patio with filigree tables

and outdoors iron chairs. Menus and a waiter.

Then breakfast, one pancake under heavy syrup.

And sleep and everything over except vision.