It is the eyes

I realise

when looking

as I do

when searching

(as I want not to but need)

for something that says


perhaps inflected as a question, as

a thought, a hesitancy only

not as affirmation

or commitment, as

an option to

connect –


A possibility of tendernesses

be they real, imaginary or

relived as confirmation, as some


of things to come, I give them

equal weightlessness, they are

but temporary, filigree

they may not be

the substance

or the solid core

the scaffold or the frame

on which the edifice of life is built

yet they are delicate





but lasting

in their value

in their glow.


I cannot take my eyes off you

no matter who you are, I see in you

the multitudes of selves reflected that I love

I need you not

to be mine

or to tell me

that I’m dear to you, or let alone


I need you only to

smile back at me

and let those windows to your soul say

maybe: maybe.


Maybe that which you are looking for

that which you see in me

that which you never thought of to declare

but daily yearn to live

to give and to receive

that which you know though you may not have words for it

that which you never knew but always knew would one day find you

that which is you, that

which is you

may yet, may: just

may, yet


< Shea