"Her sea-blue eyes were wild"
That wildness which speaks of calm disordered,
Great vision disordered.
She's had something stolen from her, rooted out of trust,
Innocence.
Someone saw how much she had, and eviscerated her for it.
All she's seen and skitters from now,
Core and canker of her memory,
(Always) in her eyes.
And she works to force it back
Into the undone, the never known,
The not-tasted, the full, unwasted,
But that is not... it is not...
What has been cannot be made not,
It surfaces, minnow now, leviathan in the next,
A mere spattering, a drowning wave,
Acid spot, watery deluge,
Both to the same effect, indelible marking,
Sudden gut-gaping gasps, abrasions on her knees and forehead,
Half-moon gouges in her palms,
Multiplied stigmata criss-cross scarred flesh.
Her eyes have seen... and know it will return (always),
No matter where she looks to, where she lays her sight,
Upon which balm she gazes, in frantic hope to find
An anaesthetic that will salve longer than the last:
That is the look she places on you, but already,
Her sea-blue eyes are wild, deep but rising, inexorably:
And you will prove unable, too.
Quoted first line from “To Juan at the Winter Solstice” by Robert Graves