The Over Man

I envy his clean
blue eyes. I come
from the South of the world,
the slothful place. My muddy
eyes say "gypsy."

He lives in the country
and wears his shirts
with long sleeves buttoned
around his wrists. One can
never criticize his neatness.

He has a natural wave of hair
over his high forehead which signals
care, seriousness, importance, the
treatment given to those who never
suffer insults.

I can rarely focus
into eyes so pure. I only
catch a glimpse of
flashes from the wings of angels.