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.
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