April is National Poetry Month - Floaters

I'm seeing floaters

tiny bubbles dancing 

across my vision field

that no amount of blinking 

will dispel

like dandelion seeds 

suspended permanently 

on a summer breeze.

 

It's the beginning of a new season

according to the web-doctor,

along with flashes of white light 

that I first interpreted 

as headlights reflected by the chrome 

of passing cars 

while I was driving,

but still flickered off and on

at home

in the corner of the bedroom

while my wife was out -

I was in a panic 

and had no one to ask 

if getting old 

is like a hallucination -

cars speeding by, bubbles 

always on the verge of bursting,  

or if it's a symptom of mortality 

settling down over you   

barely perceptible

as dusk,

a gradual blindness

mistaken for 

reality,

and then

I heard the sound of a key 

turning in the front door

I think.