Third Eye

Let’s say life is black-lit mini-golf.
Each decision is a shot in the dark.
You’re trusting your disadvantaged eyes
and assuming someone’s painted
everything important—nix that,
everything you’re meant to see—
in glowing neon paint,
including the ball you’re chasing
and the next drop ahead.

But what about those who disappear
like ghosts because their clothes
lack phosphorescence?
They hide in the purple-lit dim,
appearing as disembodied grins
if they choose to show their teeth.

Who’s to say what invisible forms
surround us—what spirits and energies
and gods and magics and sprites
traipse across our course unseen
because they lack the chemical structure
to be caught by the dominant light?

Our two eyes see only
what they’re designed to see.
Best to open the third,
the one that peeks around corners
and confirms there’s more to life
than meets the eyes.