The most beautiful thing about your
is not the color of the iris or the soft
yawn of your pupil
widening, narrowing. It’s the limits
to what you can see,
the built-in edges we are given at
birth, installed within
eyeballs. Vision means tunnel vision,
the exclusion of sewer
or gutter or drippy-bladed icicles.
Your eyes grow up in
you, gain a few millimeters, and fool
you into naming yourself
All-Seeing Oracle, The Viewmaster.
The eyes make the world,
half of it, at least, tell the looker what
to trust as true, even if
we got our start back in the kitchen,
inventing batches of truth.