how roughly or finely caress
the fingers of our sight
the infinite facets of our surroundings
crafters of home to whom we are betrothed
softly stamping perceivers
pretty plain ugly illusory
until totemic death
see how now the same scenes become strange
witness how work-stuck and tired
we all feel each other’s gazes
even through words and signs
for all of them perform
acts of seeing
when night arrives in your heart
thick with weary speed
and dim eyes mine that coffer's fullness
with furious sagging hands
what jewels will you find
before the lids close
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