may your eyelids be diaphanous parasols
sheltering from the invasive light of the sun
shielding as parables the blinding truth
when love excites the eyes
to things the heart may not accomplish
may your eyelids be shutters opened in spring
like sprawling petals of poppies
fingers extended from its palm
when love so darkens the heart the eyes
cannot perceive except the merest light
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California, with his wife and a July abundance of plums. He has work in Clerestory, Amethyst Review, Mojave Heart Review, Rabid Oak, and The Monarch Review. He works in mental health.
