it's not up to you what
you're going to see,
sight swears by you...
and means it.
there's the well, there's you--
now draw because you're
thirsty.
you can see all the way down--
a cylindrical depth opens
a dark eye.
which opens a darker one--
the water begins to appear.
washing its wobbling face
to present to yours, circlets
of light peaking dualistically.
body languages, words
placed in conversations, and
silences adhere.
a Rembrandtian lighting descends,
leaves an organic trail of
freeze frame shiftiness.
there you are, there he is,
there she is...hit with the queasiness
of being Seen.