Eyes like nests for a new sort of baby glue. Eyes stuck together with the sinewy white cartridge that oozes when the pigtailed girl breaks the grasshopper’s leg. Eyes wet and dry at once. Eyes with crusts of sleep moving over them like the feet of flies padding across butter. Eyes that want to want the day but cannot help pulling their heavy linen curtains resolutely closed. Eyes that sweat from eyeballs like swaddled saunas blinking, blink. Eyes that can’t see kites. Eyes burnt into blistered red parachutes by this dizzy-inducing sun. Eyes that look at short skirts behind sunglasses. Black eyes. Eyes losing fights with you.