It is a swimming pool lit up at night that your eyes remind me of,
or maybe a glass-bottomed boat, the underneath being
an adventure, rather than the measured depth of fear.
There was a time when my eyes were haunted, I am told
in retrospect. In truth, I was only hungry.
In mirrors I saw them as the inside of a snow globe.
Whatever it was that was stuck inside my head
for so many winters, falling to bits like the fake snow
inside that snow globe that was unmentionably large
and at the same time very small and soft.
Here i am, trying to undo what I’ve done by doing better,
and imagining the eyes that flit away from me
as jewels, turning into berries, turning into marbles,
turning into dwarf stars,
turning into all the ways I wanted to leave.
