On the face of anything,
I love the conclusion of the eyes.
Life and death are always the same
in them.
In stone there is always hardness.
In air, there is nothing to grab
when you are falling.
In a diary, words fade wistfully
on the page.
Sometimes they break into pieces
before they say anything,
like water spilled on the floor.
What shape did the water have in the glass?
Who knows.
But the eyes are different.
The lens does its work,
and the soul behind it is focused from the heart.
And whatever form the face,
the life of the eyes tells us
who it is looking into our own.
So you, my beloved, for love’s sake
look into mine.
And what your eyes see
is the solitary place that belongs to us,
where the eyes are.
Transparent and beautiful.