I love what you see
when I look in your eyes,
eyes so bright and shining,
eyes that melt so tenderly
at the one who looks but cannot see.
It is a look I’ve seen before,
a look once seen in eyes like yours—
before the subject of the fall
had taken any shape or form,
before ever I was me.
Something tightens as it loosens
seeing your eyes on me,
when we stand in the sun together
under the shady tree;
yet, your avid eyes remind me
that there must be more to see
than this phantom in the mirror
given shape by memory.
It is a look I’ve seen before,
a look once seen in eyes like yours—
before the time of oath and vow,
burned in the furnace of your here and now.
I would risk a second longer in your spell,
leap off the firm and fallow ground,
rebel against that shrinking silhouette—
that old refrain of sorrow and regret—
and catch you breathless in a sigh;
take the keys of Eden in your eyes
and through the razing flames of folly run,
mouth-to-mouth, hand-in-hand,
forget to understand,
and disappear for just one second long.
Oh, what became of the shady tree
and the lovely girl who looked at me,
whose eyes, immortalised in memory,
revealed the self I could not see?
I cannot bear to drive that way,
though she long left—and who can say
who’s looking in those lovely eyes
that open onto paradise?
It is a look I’ve seen before,
a look once seen in eyes like yours—
but for a folly and a come-what-may,
I’ve kept my faith in yesterday.