Her eyes never blink—
higher beings do not blink,

nor people in remote lands
who stare at you from the fields—
but that’s innocence, like animals.

If blinking is a kind of flinching,
she never flinches.
She doesn’t adopt any facial expression—
it’s her feelings she shows
or none at all. Nor does she put on
mannerisms like we do, meaning
we’re desperate for attention.
If she wants to be alone 
she’s the only one we believe it of.

It’s no devices then that make her beautiful
but the lack of them. Still, the awkwardness
of her grace shows that being graceful
is not an easy victory—
there’s the permanent mournfulness in the mouth
and the testimony of those eyes—
no blinking it back,
it’s all there.

Can’t we make the same commitment,
risk shedding evasions, devices, defenses
—in short, our faces—
and look unblinking at each other, vulnerable
to what in our hearts we long for,
whatever the cost, wherever it leads?
Or does she affirm that for mere mortals
the price is too great,

though for herself
she could not, would not, choose another fate.