Our eyes met in God’s little room,
Full of tenderness of lonely night-
The lizard was looking for his food
That would not look him in his eye.
Insects made God’s wilted flowers
Their homes, flowers still fragrant
In their deaths, deaths that smelled
As pure temporary events in time.
Insects might have met him in eye,
If there were time before deaths.
So they looked God’s capital eye
As we all do when our eyes close.