Blind Reconnaissance

Without sunlight as a guide,
time passes in texture.
The wrinkles
in his watch grow deeper,
and the man knows more
by them.

Reflections pass by
as heat radiation;
in this way
he knows people passing.

Through his liver spotted ears
time still echoes,
but it comes with delay.
Sounds take time
to shape into beings.

With cracked lips
and a white dry tongue
the man speaks a name.
He knows whom to call by scent,
and the particular gait
of footsteps.

He is precise.
The opacity blocking his sight
is the very blueprint for his world.
A map gridded in by sound and smell,
and filled in by touch and taste,
guides his way.