What sits behind the eyes?
More eyes. They watch the insects of the rain flitting.
O wash of colors and recriminations
Which sat once, with you and I—and are still sitting.
What sits behind the eyes?
An object looked at in a garden
Which now gives you a withering look.
As the line in the poem approaches.
As the metaphor waits.
We decide it goes in your book.
What sits behind the eyes?
The unkindness of the mind,
Which filters and laughs and hates,
To preserve itself—and a small chance to be kind.
