Eyes Closed

There is a red sun

burning behind my eyes.

A place of resistance

to my blinking open to see

the world’s colors turning strange

            around me.

Here, behind the veil,

sounds become more real,

echo deeper, have more meaning.

But the honeyed redness

never varies,

brightest where the sun is hung high,

marbled with visions and phantom motes

my eyes pick out of the

constant color, undefined.