You are told
that, after many years'
rehearsal,
you'll see better—
depth will come
in clearer, and
small things
will grow bigger. So
day and night,
you stare, until
your eye learns
to pull the trigger
and shoot
a bullet, for example,
straight through the heart
of a louse.
Only now, there’s all
that shrapnel—ah,
that shrapnel
is a nightmare;
you miss more
little flecks of her
than you really know
how to count.
