I see through painted windows
That would obscure others’ vision
Clearer than glass—clear like crisp autumn air
That demists the mind; the one remedy that is not painful
With the side-effects of being home in bed
Asking silent questions, and unreasonably expecting answers.

You see through a distorted mirror
It reflects back your face, and I wonder how you make it through the day
When life is twisted and blurred—no color other than those hues memorized
How can you love? How can you not? You cannot answer
For you are not listening, too busy staring—can eternity not wait
Another moment while you fill this burning hole in my existence?

While I do not doubt we look at the same moon each night
My mind is a poet, sculpting a sight more beautiful than what exists
Or, perhaps, seeing in the night what others are blind to
When all you see is a tool—personification is lost on you
That body is a science, lights your way through the dark;
I see a great being, who is reassuring my doubts, if I could learn how to listen.