Woman leaves her home.
Waits on a sidewalk
for a ride to arrive.
She is blind.
Am I blind,
conjuring mystical scenarios that never occur.
Not listening. Listening too intently. Helping when not asked.
Call me blind I suppose, for those.
But not like the woman, real blind.
Note her deliberate routine
weekly, daily, decidedly.
I see her dark vision through my lit vision.
Wonder why my blindness envelops me.
Issues appear obvious once I see the understanding;
breaking my back to understand.
When I see, the woman, it encourages vision.