a little day poetry

But no hocus-pocus of green angels
Damasks with dazzle the threadbare eye;
'My trouble, doctor, is: I see a tree,
And that damn scrupulous tree won't practice wiles
To beguile sight: E.g., by cant of light
Concoct a Daphne;
My tree stays tree.
'However I wrench obstinate bark and trunk
To my sweet will, no luminous shape
Steps out radiant in limb, eye, lip,
To hoodwink the honest earth which pointblank
Spurns such fiction
s nymphs; cold vision
Will bave no counterfeit
Palmed off on it.
- Sylvia Plath


... i should have been among those who see visions,
but i am not. I see math.
... the jaundiced eye see yellow,
but i do not. I see deductions.