Larry's Eyes
Larry Eigner handed me the following poem and told me that it might make a story.  "You write stories," he said, "Why don't you make a story out of it. We'll collaborate."  He also told me that the last four lines of the poem were a fiction, that there was no railroad crossing near-by.
   This is the story I made out of Larry's poem:

Larry looked out the window.  It was a warm spring day and the window was wide open. A dog barked.

His eyes blinked.  He moved his wheelchair closer to the sill.  His eyes flow out the window!

Larry's eyes looked back at the man in the wheelchair who was staring in amazement at them.  They were looking at Larry!  Funny to be knowledgeable/whnevor one is.  Larry watched as his eyes hesitated, uncertain now as to whether they should return to him or move on.  They were waiting for a sign from Larry. He made a little gesture with his hand. His eyes understood. They flew off.

Larry thought, "Now suppose I write this down."  But he didn't.  "And I don't write it down."

Near-by to what?  Not to Larry's house.  It was night now and Larry had long since gone to bed, wondering about the adventures his eyes might have.  As for Larry's eyes, they looked around themselves in joy and amazement.  They had been places Larry had never been!


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