The eye of an exile,
a kaleidoscope of piercy range,
sees frontiers of distant lands

The blue rim of the horizon
stretches beyond its beginning,
haunting spectres of banishments.

The eye of the exile
reads the blooded refrains of
satanic hymns hummed from home

And tears drip from the corner
of the lone eye – a monocle in search
of venues for communal funerals

No pince nez for the eye of the exile,
which forms a globule with an aperture
of grief, nurtured in the chambers of the sinciput.

And the exile follows his own sleuth
from the scent of broken shadows to the
distorted vistas of truths.