class eleven

sight, space

i see myself when i look into
your eyes
reflecting the glaring world
encapsulated by me in
the tiny globe of your vision

i am often
smiling and yet
distorted: my nose much larger
than i hope it is in the world
outside of you

the lens of your sight
slightly skewed,
glasses since you were a boy
and yet seeing
more than those who have looked
at me before.

those eyes are sometimes
the only thing i can remember
of you, though i see you often
somehow they have become
abstracted from even your face
and hurled into the realm of
essence:
there becomes you, solid
standing in space
vacuumed and hurtling through blackness
meteors of consciousness
asteroids of love
i need to see myself there
reflected in your gaze--
more depth
than surface

only when i see past myself
can i see you,
and the tiny
distortion
starting back