A cell with a spyglass searching for its blood.
And a tiny cell becomes glass to others. That's king.
It is Him when convenient. Despite what is said.
The glass is never Him. Only for convenience.
Not blood but eosin. Not a noise but You. Not You, never.
Brightly for convenience. Darkly would be contradiction.
Not blood but something you made. This is eosin.
Serves dream and frame and shelf and eosin never Him.
For we rarely ever speak.