The stones open an eye of stone,
the bones open an eye of bone.
Each dog has a snout in place of its eyes, and barks
from three snouts, generously.
It's a constant transforming of eyes in the air.
The eye of the cat turns into leaves.
The leaves murmur a sweet lament
in the sockets of the mother cats.
My eyes remain open and misted.
My eye blinks in the town council tower,
and suddenly I sense in my sockets,
with infant in arms, the statues of Mary.