Today I shall collect a look.

I'm not unseen in the street.

I know because I see men in the morning hold
its empty distance
tighter than their attache case.

They know the one in the corner office lies,
yet every day they look him in the eye.

Here's mine, shiny as a coin. I know irony.

It's what I know that makes me beautiful.
. . .























. . .
Maybe today we will find an emerald
I told my mother
every day we walked the beach.

I offer my eye to those beyond fear.

They are blameless. For the universe too
passes on by, clutching its huge indifference.