In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

Boxed Orchids

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Gone from view, vacant stares through empty glass

where boxed orchids now hold your station

by the rise of not enough occasion 

and too many glances past.

I once held your gaze through the reflected glare,

the sun obscuring encircled simmering eyes

unrelenting in the search, seeking surmise 

somehow, and now your portrait still

replaced ironically in nature’s pride

perched on sills

peering inside 

out where you refused to shine.

 

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