Your eyes open, the doors of heavens,
into their quiets voice,
building up, in changes of thunder,
The enormous mirror of directness.
So close, they tell the truth,
so shallow the know me well.
To which they sail forward to find surrender,
In places of youth, to see age.
their middling stare,
is a great page,
flipping up the air,
Of never-ending stories.
Oh, Women,
what you had done?
To leave me, so helpless,
in the stitch atoms of your tread.
In the nearly stated, caused by your stare.
In the summing pool of eight's nakedness.
