Running Through Crowds

by David Carey

When he painted my eyes, he told me
I could use them
to look out at a future age, while
I looked out of the window
at the crowded streets
I was too
to run through when I was young.
He said I could watch the eras
shed their skins,
and I longed to shed mine.

We hung it where
could see it.
The years rolled on;
I noticed it more and more
as time creased my face.
I found myself seeing it
while running my fingers
through a hariline that grew
less crowded by the day.