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.