like a quilt
sown by a blind man
the clouds rise
and billow as they may
blue and grey
and sun white patches
rush and push
seemingly unconscious
over the Waddenzee
crafting a living pattern
no sighted man could catch
but in the dark light
of my mind's eye
I see
but cannot feel
he feels
he waits
for he can see
far more
not less
than me
