“I like your eyes because no one else has them.”
No one else, I think,
as the sentence sinks deep into my cavernous lungs
and lays there in still silence,
taking all else from my whirling mind and instead
draping Certainty over my eyes like a thick, scratching quilt.
No, I think,
as my own, individual marbles are shut tight
to the world I think I know like the back of my hand,
only I quickly realize the back of my hand
still owns territory I have yet to experience:
wide, open fields full of azaleas and sycamore trees.
Eyes are like no one else’s, I think,
not only because of the physical attributes
they pull into our world…
Our marbles own spirals of color and complexity,
each holding a twist of green from a fluttering leaf or
a spark of chestnut from the depths of Earth
that no other marble shares.
Because, I think, our marbles have seen what no other has seen.
Our marbles experience life in a way unfamiliar
to the rest of the seven and a half billion living today.
Our wide-eyed marbles see the biggest Marble in an indescribable way to anyone else,
the captured memories always altered to fit one view and not two.
I think this as the sentence sinks deep into my cavernous lungs
and sits there in still silence: no one else has mine.