The patient lays on my operating table, limp, and deep in slumber. 

A brownish-red liquid covers the patient's face, sterilizing the skin. 

I will execute an enucleation performing more than a mere peritomy. 

I run through the checklist of procedures with my operating team. 

Each member confirms that we’ve completed each vital step,

For every check they signal their affirmation with their eyes,

These checks for surgeries we’ve completed a million times.

I start with the left side. 

I retract the eyelids using a traction suture. 

The eye points toward the ceiling, still. 

The center with a dark circle, and surrounding it, a white surface riddled with veins. 

My eyes, always spasm at this moment,

As the blood drips from the dangling root to splatter the patient’s face. 

The unseeing sphere in my possession passes from form forceps to forceps as I reposition towards the patient’s right. 

Again, the jerking motion of Stevens scissors to carefully bisect Tenon’s fascia, 

A thin yet relatively strong membrane. 

My eyes, again, a spasm.

The same dark splashes on the patient's brownish-red painted face.

Although below me there are two holes where visions would have been, 

In my hands, a fresh pair of eyes.