Wednesday, December 17, 2008


the green-blue is lost
between folded, swollen lids.
the iris peers, like a child into the dark space under the bed
where all fears are manifested. where you are.
the bedsheets tangle and wrap
around the legs and hold the child in place while they look
for monsters.
the iris looks, seeing everything and nothing at the same time,
made acute and washed clear by a night of salt and saline
i will try my best, my very best, for dry cheeks
the next time you look at me.

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