By Nkateko Masinga
One night at the hotel, the window open
to let in the city air, I saw your eyes as if
for the first time; half-closed, hazel, new
to the light filling them from outside our
room. I saw you flinch as if attacked, one
split-second is all it takes to go blind here
and what will you say was the last thing
you saw? My awe at perfection’s gaze,
your early morning daze in the mirror’s
betrayal: which image will Brussels echo
back when your other senses take over?
Perhaps you will see tiger lilies growling
and blooming simultaneously. We can
never separate what is one: atoms, us,
the window and the sun’s steady glow.