I was told as a young girl that

eyes are the windows to the soul.

But as I grew

and looked

and saw

I found in the reflections

of sunglasses

shallow pupils

and mirrors

That I did not recognize

the soul cowering in the

depths of my eyes.

But as my eyes absorbed

haikus

and sonnets

and ballads

And my hands transcribed

pain

and thoughts

and memories

And as I read my words

and laughed

and cried

and grew some more

I slowly began to see

that the soul is not found within the eyes

But rather

the words

of a poem.