I caught it, between drinks two and three:
my glimpse, my quotidian epiphany.
The machinery of vision clicked one notch
on revelation’s cog, held for a moment –
a long one – before its order faltered, fell
And what do I remember?
Nothing of the detail, no shred
of its ravishing wear. But I’m sure
that all that went before is altered now;
all since: different, too, somehow,
as if, across my life, a line was scored.
No, I don’t know why; nor can I define
more than this: the vision was mine,
and mine, too, this unignorable border.