Poem: The Eyes of Jesus

I imagine the eyes of Jesus were harvest brown,
the light of their gazing suffused with the seasons;

the shadow of winter, the mind of spring,
the blues of summer, and amber of harvest.

A gaze that is perfect sister to the kindness the dwells in his beautiful hands.

The eyes of Jesus gaze on us, stirring in the heart's clay
the confidence of seasons that never lose their way to harvest.

This gaze knows the signature of our heartbeat, the first glimmer
from the dawn that dreamed our minds,

the crevices where thoughts grow long before the longing in the bone
sends them towards the mind's eye,

The artistry of the emptiness that knows to slow the hunger
of outside things until they weave into the twilight side of the heart,

A gaze full of all that is still future looking out for us to glimpse
the jeweled light in winter stone,

Quickening the eyes that look at us to see through to where words
are blind to say what we would love,

Forever falling softly on our faces, his gaze plies the soul with light,
laying down a luminous layer,

Beneath our brief and brittle days until the appointed dawn comes
assured and harvest deft

To unravel the last black knot and we are back home in the house that we have never left.