Through the Frozen Eye Window

The icicle window to peer and observe distorts every view into ribbons and odds Ends which were really beginnings dissolve and the watcher has ship eyes for lights Lights to shoot beams into hollow men's souls to narrow their hearts to be true to their goals through ice melting stature it beckons and pulls and the watcher has afghans for warmth Warmth in the fingers excepting the tips which gnaw at the window with icicle grips in wanting to break off the fingers of strips which sort and distort every view Views of each introspect caught unawares from glancing off hand to an unruly stare Truth to be told, we have all done our share through eyes knowing only one history.