Behind These Eyes

by Terese Coe

What is this behind these eyes,
the thing that looks, and sees, and dies?

That touches air and feels the heat,
and knows the scent of meadowsweet

that grows beside the standing stone,
where cooling, lying on our own,

we hear an ourobouros song
that tells us consciousness is long,

and long has asked us what we are.
A gaze, a pause, a reservoir.

“Behind These Eyes” first appeared in The Everyday Uncommon.


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