Through the islet of the eyes,

past the backward view

into the blood and memory

the images once flew.

To enter that which never sees,

tapping into the sap.

The chemicals which so dormant lie,

powerfully unwrapped.

So few will be allowed;

as Edna Snead now is –

To reach beyond the grips of time,

the wings of flight it pins.

Now passed by her in silence,

the feeling soon is gone –

uncontrolled, will it return?

To see what no one saw.