Grey twigs slump,
straw splays,
grass blades
tangled, sprawl.
From faded stump,
emerge lips, eyes, stub nose,
imp familiar.
Rock and roots,
little monkey face half severed
one big eye staring.
Pebbles coalesce,
spotted cat
sleeps in dirt.
Everything is alive.
Faces look out at me.
Do they exist without my eye?
The dessicated landscape,
the lichens, roots, grasses,
dead, dormant, resting.
Waiting for vision
drawn from seeing
and being seen.
Vicki Schwartz is a senior medical writer, birder, violinist, and poet, living in Hillsborough, NJ. Most recently, her poem titled “Postpartum” was published in US1 Worksheets, vol. 67, 2022.