Optical Physiology

The palace
has a corridor,
walls inlaid
with a textured filagree
faintly French. It
stays in my eyes.
I don't know where it's from.

Real vision initially
distorts what is there.
It's hard to divest myself of vision.
Then there's fire
red from the light
that quietly cools
leaving something deep-imprinted
hard on the mental flesh.
Hard from memory, beyond
memory.