Tunnel Visions

6 MINNESOTA REVIEW FELIX POLLAK TUNNEL VISIONS I First the light cracked and black hairlines appeared. Then tiny pores opened like peepholes, for the night to peer in, the winds of the void to blow through. Crumbs of grey started to drown, floating downward, out of sight, like islands sinking in a tide. Colors slid into shafts of blindspots, the memories of shapes sailed the seven black seas. II Her voice enters the room, followed by her form and only last her face, a flower, a small cloud of smoke. I knew this face when it was white, distinct, bordered by black hair. Now the hair, too, has wilted, turned grey. Ill I wake to the sound of rain. Scent of wet grass. It is still night. The world is all right at this hour. There is nothing to see. A bird begins to proclaim his ownership of our tree. Over and over. No dispute. Soon dawn will invade my window, crawl up to my door. Peace is POLLAR 7 running out. Not peace: armistice. I close my eyes, sink back into my dream. My eyes are opened, become as clear and sharp as a bird's. IV Another transparent skin has grown over the world since I last met it. I am descending the black keys of a piano. They sing Keep well Keep safe Keep Some of the white keys counter with But Yet Still Gradually, though, the piano falls silent, like letters from estranged friends, like dusk falling over a street corner, creating a dead end. I keep shaking my head to ward off this spiderweb of un-light clinging to my eyeballs. A reflex of my hand keeps trying to shoo it away like a pesky fly buzzing in front of me so rapidly that it weaves a visible net of un-darkness over things, an opaque inaudible sound, a painless hurt. Slowly the world contracts, wrapped in a musty smell. ...