Uncle History is a pointillist masterpiece
When he leans to his mirror
He’s all colored dots
It’s time to jump into the day
But in public
No one spots him
“A trick of the light”
That’s what they call him
Pins of sun
On fresh snow
Imagine going through life
Both known
And invisible
Central to all
And easy to forget
Beautiful, that’s what he is
Picture the smallest flecks
In the world
Falling where you walk
He’s “dot-daddy” alright
Sadly people walk over him
Planet of the Blind 