In the whispers of earliest morning
and the scurrying tones of nightfall
my mind lies open, vulnerable
like dark flowers cusping spring

With probing eyes, full and brown
I see that which I can realize
yet not realizing what must be seen
that which lies beyond my ocular reach

And with utmost effort, sinking innards
I toil with feelings buried inwards
dissected and magnified
preserved and studied under the light