Written by: Heather Ober

Sparse lashes span aged lids,
framing an eye that catches light
like the clearest glass.
The softest liquid sheen - of tears?
But the eye stares blankly
without expression. 
No crinkle of joy, no distention of fear,
yet the pupil dilates, eclipsing the iris. 
Snuffing out the moon.
And there, the faintest reflection...
watching, waiting.  
He stares down Death itself
with no sign of fear.

*Inspired by Escher's "Eye"