All that colour, perhaps it's green
Memories of a me I once was
Maybe
I can't remember.
Those small things, are they petals?
But they're green, so no, something else
Leaves me confused
About where I am,
What is this place?
And what lies between me and there?
I see nothing, only someone's reflection.
Is that me?
I raise my hand, something solid
Stops me knowing
I'm not seeing the wood for the trees.
Juliet Wilson is a short sighted adult education tutor and conservation volunteer based in Edinburgh, Scotland. She blogs at http://craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com and can be found on Twitter @craftygreenpoet. She has had cataract surgery on her right eye.