William’s Eyes

They are so blue
It was said

Eyes holding the
Color of water, the
Color of forests, the
Color of earth

What else do
Your eyes

Sitting in the backseat
Of a late model car
With late model

Braced by an
Odd seatbelt
Embrace as your
Cane rests at an angle

On the way
To the cemetery
To bury your wife
Whose skin was
Your own, whose
Laughter was your

Whose voice
Said things you
Could not say

Your hair is combed
Back, the follicles
Finely plastered in
Strands stretching back

But your eyes
Look straight

Your jaw, firm
As an apple

A lock of hair
Falls at your
Ear in the shape
Of a half moon

The arc of your life
In angles, aligned by
The constellations of
Memory that only your
Eyes can hold

Memories of the
Movement of your
Feet across
Continents and
Dance floors and
To work and back

And you sat
In a row of seats
Next to your son,
Daughter and friends

And your eyes held
The image of the minister,
And the military man who
Spoke of your wife as
She lay in a coffin of a
Thousand whispers

And the military man
Folded the flag, fold
After fold, each fold a
Year unfolding, a life

Your mind unfolding

And you were
Presented with
The folded flag

And your eyes
Held a lifetime
Of color


And everything
They held you
Finally let go

As the ravens
Cried out


(C) 2016 Tony Robles


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