by Jeph Johnson
from the darkness
of clouded perception
I look up at her eyes
standing there
unaware
a few tables away,
taking an order
she has no idea what they do
but they are open wide
to colors,
patterns
shapes and shades
that paint beauty in the world
she has no idea what they do
still they work too well,
a bit too precise
for I am seen accurately
she has no idea what they do
I wish she'd use her imagination
to dream the dreams I dream for them
worshipped by my prayers,
opening slow at daybreak
safely in my gaze
instead
dark fluttering ravens
wave goodbye
at sunset
beautiful
strong poem, weaves in and out of what is seen, and what is felt well. enjoyable work. eric