There’s a young blind man that frequents one of the coffee houses I like. Whenever he comes tapping in with his white cane, there is always this pretty lady with him. She dotes over him and helps him with whatever he needs. She could be his sister, or his lover, but I suspect that they’re intimate.

The last time I saw them at the coffee house, I found myself drafting this poem, thinking about what it must be like for him. Later I revised it further. It’s abstract, as I imagine a blind person must perceive the world in an abstract sort of way.

Braille

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.