Alexander Momirov

Only the Eye

We all look up and see
in the pale-tiled market
a human bristling with frost,
gelid behind the fogged glass.

Everywhere the eye rests
hallucinations call after it:
the sparrow jerkied in its plastic shroud,
the twice-dead fruits from somewhere else,
and pouring out of the bottomless microcosm,
a linear pornography of fact--

only the eye
holds the infinite.

But it strays.




​​
--
​Alexander Momirov