The restless night miraculously gives birth to a pictorical awakening
My true eyes are wide and open and that's what counts, isn't it?
Sponges of sunlight and shadows of leaves on my brown bare legs
These true eyes, their own defensive rays,
My courage, my shade
A restful day unsurprisingly recycles reminders
of disappointing eyes that can't see, can't see you, your lips
and the concert of your words, better live.
I still stare but am I facing the right way?
Me backwards, you forwards
Our days are the other way around
and we're really just going in circles
chasing our duties
bumping into local chance
planning our phone calls
Not under a simultaneous sun
But when you're deep in dream, I'm surely dreaming too
Then the sun sets
and so do the off and on distractions
The night creeps up
and so does impatience
that menaces my easy talent
to know when my eyes are open or shut
which cell phone is telling the right time
and which side of the ocean I'm on
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