The eyes hold a story
never told before.

These white crystal *****
don't predict—
they only see the present.

They hurt;
from straining,
from seeing,
from assembling.

White
crystals –
sharp and penetrating.
hard and retentive,
yet beautiful.

Salt slips solemnly
from waning tear ducts, and
The facsimile twins
become mirrors—
reflecting the bull’s red eye,
inventing the silver mask,

Creating this hardened
Saline.