I left an eye
blue stone
and wide
high on the wall
staring straight
at an empty floor.
I let an eye
lids lowered
hover
over canvas-covered chairs.
I raised the eye
above the window
so sky was near...
Still semi-precious
tears
soaked the heaped pieces
of the past.
No canvas is
strong
for the sores born of wars.
The immunity from memories
cracks
at the seams
of our stitched-up fears.
This eye
blue
stone
and the constant stare.
No evil enters
beyond
the front door.
And yet
all the eyes
and all the blue
and all the stones
... could not stop a single war.
