I can see right through you;
the cogs turning
within your chest
as though your flesh
were naught but
glass and mirrors.

I can see those things
that you wanted to keep
shut up inside of you-
the black melancholia
that pulls at your skin
and the voices
you keep trying to hush.

I can see through you,
all of you,
into landscapes
less numinous
when superimposed
over barren ground
and eyes that glint
like topaz.