The Stare
When you look at me
I don't want you to see
how black my eyeballs are
or how many pores
I have on my cheeks.
I want you to see a virescent field
blooming with yellow flowers
under the cerulean sky
where kids can romp around
even when the rain
enjoys its endless pouring.
I want you to see a house
built on that meadow
with a wooden deck
where you can read poetry
while true sparrows can have
their nests on the roof.
And when you look at me deeper
and deeper
I want you to see me
inside that house
while I'm in the room
staring back at you.
