I float around in the tranquil void
A restful limbo free of prejudice
Colors and shapes swirl around
Forming brief, solid impressions
Then dissipate back into my psyche
Only to come out again in a different guise.
The semblance d’jour is a shifting face
Altering features and skin tones
My mother, my grandfather, my cousin,
My best friend, my uncle, a stranger
My grandmother, oh can’t she stay a bit longer?
The only constant is the eyes
Not the eye color, nor the eye shape
But the love flowing through every pair of eyes
And I can sleep knowing I am not alone.
Source: Wed Stories: George Tooker