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These Spots

I found them at a ballgame
on a scoreboard with advertiser white,
a flicker in my eye, a string,
a two-step of disconnected cells
in a myopic retina, a dusty lens,
dancing on the toes of my new shoes.

An ophthamological mystery,
I stare over a right shoulder, left
with dilated pupils that reveal nothing.

Ghost image, genetic fluke,
mental arrhythmia. I see what is not there.
But this hyper-sight, this heightened sense
never spies the world beyond my nose.
I trip on a non-existent twig
and run face-first into trees.