A Man and His Eyes Walked By

Your eyes are
sharp needles,
pricking at my skin
as i walk by and
you scrutinize
autumn's leaves on
my head,
winter's trees in
my face,
warm rolling spring meadows
on my chest,
and summer's hot marshes
between my legs.

You pass me by
but your eyes
have done their job
well-
tattooing your every though
across my body,
burning ruins and
smoke,
over the trees and leaves
and meadows
and marshes
that
are
no
more.