How have you all become so very strange?
A line stretched from your cheek to your low bone,
Meets a life source in profounded met eyes
And rises to a point of you alone.
What mystery appears through this, your veil
That whistles to me and beckons me come in
To enter forth and see the goods for sale
To be bought at the price of what’s within.
You are beautiful in a way not known
To one who doesn’t see with eyes anew.
But in the year that becomes itself lone
I see your lines as if new from the womb.
Linger a while that I may see your eyes
And share with me your daily sacrifice.

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