Named, but unspoken yet
How past the days and minutes
traveling on, dawn to deeper chords,
unfolded and folding again, and
that flower there grants you only
one glimpse at a time.
Speak not when you are unlistened to.
Unfickle yet changing so, it is breeze
and sun that draw such language as that.
Meanwhile, animal eyes watch with all intent,
interest bounding, vibrating in air,
spoken or not, then runs away untouched
it seems, yet what hand was upon that head?
Lingering afterthought is what is left, undone.
There were one or two that way,
glimpsed but then leap away.
And no one recalls just what was seen
for sure, and just for sure,
only the eyes were seen.
A whole life can pass just that secretly,
yellow eyes looking back.
Me too, me too, you see.
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