It was always strange, the trick of eyes When staring off into the black, Before the clouds had closed Their down blanket over the sky, Speckled like dirty mirrors, And wonder, how near overhead? Oft the points of light overhead Wander away from the eyes, To wonder what metaphor mirrors All that is fathomless and black, Up there in the great sky When most faculties have closed. Precisely the thoughts closed As the airplanes flew overhead, Blinking across the desolate sky. And so taken were the eyes, Thus tearing through the black With a noise that could crack mirrors. All of the questions it mirrored And the doors never to be closed, Turning black upon black In vain hope that no idea goes overhead. Reason is lost in the expanse of the eyes Staring into the bold, dark sky. And lost in the sea of the sky That lays smooth as mirrors, Against a stretched membrane in the eyes, How the world is infinitely closed And the stars always overhead Accent the immense black. Black Sky Overhead Mirrors Closed Eyes. The ambient black finds its mirrors And the sky has so near in closed, That we look overhead and see merely eyes.
– painting by Brian Bello, poem by Michaël Veremans