I’ve been watching
the snow, pressed
between
the pages of a forest,
brush the light from
a dark bird
of prey.
My eyes turn silver,
that’s the degree
to which
my eyes wish
to be green.
We have a deal.
They tell me
where they’ve gone
when I am here,
I lie to them, understand? They
promised
so much.
“Night, love is
first sight.”
they say.
“Yes, love,” it says back,
“we’re blind.”