perhaps i only truly see
my own eyes in the bountiful harvest  
under sun, star, and moonlight:
more than the garden of earthly delights
all these passion volcanoes exploding-
the flow of conversations from rivers
subterranean, human, and thus divine.  

and after everything  
i see you.  

seeing you ignites a spark of desire
to burn colors and form in my eyes
that until the last fading light and breath
as long as you allow my gaze
i wish i would not be blind.