I unhook my fingers from the warm
damp of the clicker,
brush off the residue of the space bar,
remove my irises from the white noise,
the pixels, the square of metal and glass.
Peel my spine from the wood of my chair,
turn off the machine of colour and wires
and learn how to walk again;
how to see again,
how to feel again –
like I once did many years ago.
Before I had grown
and my finger bones could crack,
bend to tentatively touch keys
on an unfeeling pad.
Before the inside of my home
held more adventure to me
than an open sky ever could…