You Took It Just Now

I think I probably scratched out my cornea.
My left eye is just a flash of red
And my fingers feel a bit damp.
You can never compare a bird to a butterfly.
I think that’s why I can’t see.
I said that to the cardinal.
I remarked on his fluttering, fluttering, fluttering
Just as if he were a butterfly.
Have you ever seen a red butterfly?
Yes, that’s what he said, the thin outermost layer of my eye
Gripped between his gray-red feet.
Oh, so that’s where it went.
He wears a mask the color of the river soil.
He can’t hide his identity.
We all know who he is
Can smell him by his bloodstained feathers.
When I was a child I wrote about him
As if he were God of the skies:
“A brilliant thing, smart as a crow.”
I might still agree.
But a crow isn’t the one who took the sight from my eyes.
What makes him better
Than me
Than the crow
Than the rivers
And black soil?
His wing settles in my palm.
Holding his soft petals,
My hand ignites,
Red with his blood.
Or is it my own?