The eyes
The world at our side is receding:
It tugs at our eyes
for what is gone.
And still blind, we follow
this vision
for a while
Let strange greys pull at the sockets
(the soul rolling heavy behind)
—don’t look back.
But sometimes our eyes flock in angels.
And flooded, the grey grows
fluttering white.
And all our eyes have rolled back--
And so we all lay
hidden bodies,
Sprouting earth and white posies out of casts.
And, silent, we let it all
Silently cry
A silent and fluttering “and”.
The world at our side is receding:
It tugs at our eyes
for what is gone.
And still blind, we follow
this vision
for a while
Let strange greys pull at the sockets
(the soul rolling heavy behind)
—don’t look back.
But sometimes our eyes flock in angels.
And flooded, the grey grows
fluttering white.
And all our eyes have rolled back--
And so we all lay
hidden bodies,
Sprouting earth and white posies out of casts.
And, silent, we let it all
Silently cry
A silent and fluttering “and”.