Your eyes are looking at me

I do not see what they see

A branch sticking out from the perfect tree

planted by the urban planner,

but it still wants to be unique

seen by a passersby

seen by your eyes.

I do not see the shine

you tell me is behind my eyes

they are healthy and see

my children play

they see flowers

and snow

when we wish we are awake.

But your eyes see the tree

and the light hiding inside

my rusted bicycle

given to me by my uncle

used and blue

your eyes see,

but I do not feel.