Submerged in life, there is no life
or mirrors. The hands that shield
the eyeless face have no purpose.

Yet, here I lie, draped in moonlight,
the stars a million disembodied pearls,
and I can see the strangeness of, the open

universe liver-less, blinded as Prometheus
who gave his flame for love. And was it
you, who held a torch with steady, cold

and eager arm and I vision-less and pure
sacrificed myself so you could watch eagles
climb and circle over some distant, dying fool.

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