(you can listen to the audio version here)

Orbiting Irises

And maybe we’ll become experts in reading eyes—
not gauging body language but orbiting irises:
blue green
brown, apple of my eye, messenger to the
gods;
grey hazel
black,
windows to the soul, reflection of our
spirit.

Corneas will pinch like dimples and eyelashes curve like smiles.
We’ll starve with a mouth inconsequential,
a race retroactively mute—
with an understanding of dilated pupils.

Not lips but looks and brows will tilt instead of grins,
no splinters nor wood in the
eyes of the plagued
people.

But the people will one day be healed.
Jaws rehinged lips
parted teeth bright touch
ungloved and again,
we’ll forget that a look once meant more.