Who’s looking out of my eyes?
Sometimes it’s a person full of worry,
then later, amusement;
someone enthralled with himself,
Sometimes it’s a disenchanted soul,
then an inquisitive one.
It could be a person captivated
by a sudden realization,
or someone’s eyes.
The longer I watch the procession,
the clearer it is that the content
doesn’t matter very much,
since it’s all going to change anyway—
even subtle changes, second to second.
For the moment, just keeping track of
who’s looking out of my eyes this time,
seems to be all that’s needed
to feel like myself,