Once, my doe-like eyes saw the world
through red and blue lined paper
covered with wax crayon butterflies that found homes among loops of smiling flowers.
Once, my teary eyes saw the world
through newsprint pages
covered with black inked words and red circles of fury.
Now, my heavy eyes, praying for slumber, see the world
through stacks of letter-sized paper with one-inch margins that seemed to bound its author in its leather skins.
Tomorrow, my blurry eyes will see the world
through broken crayons that can turn into a kaleidoscope.