Wide Eyed

I have come to be real-in-my-eyes, eyes that only half see, yet only the half blind may see themselves. The fine hairs of apperception, those metaphorical hat brims pulled low over smiling eyes hide nothing from deeper insights. In the moment of looking I see only that looking, yet that view is broad, rimless encompasses all the mind can develop of reality. Perception in its narrow lens, its fractional calibrated cogs within cogs fades like a ghost on a white board that wide-eyes rub out with a blink. Nothing gets trapped in a past way of seeing. Only a clear looking-glass remains, and it but waits for a wholeness to shatter its frame.