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.”