the seeing eye can predict movement of the oceans,
turning of scattered stardust,
silence on the moon.

my two eyes watch the spinning of
his red pen, pointed
while the rattling chamber-room of his mouth
collapses.
  coiling harder, the spring tightens around
the cold pit of my stomach.
burning already, a sunspot.

when the second hand stops its revolution,
my two eyes melt
into the sea.