he said in some fragment of history
that I looked up at him
with my big blue eyes
but these eyes
in all of fragmented history
have never been blue

once they were hazel green
soft like tender ferns unfurling on forest beds
deep meadows of moss blanketing hillsides
inviting and comforting
even to my own reflection

once they were flecked with stars
overflowing with bright galaxies
destined for something great, marvelous and exotic
charming and swirling with potential
sparkling through my eyelids as I slept
casting shadow plays of future so bright

once they were golden amber
pure and shimmering honey...