Private eyes
I cut back the rose bushes
branches & stems & canes
right down to the green
It is early April & cold
a slight wind bemoaning change
—& just like in a recurring dream
a set of eyes (or maybe two)
watching
my every move
I should be wearing gloves
but I never do
my hands with an occasional puncture
blood beading & oozing here & there—
their eyes focused on the color scarlet
I imagine they are imagining
what it would taste like
to lick my wounds
I try to guess what animal
the eyes belong to
but they are shadowless
& possess no language
how I know they are there
remains a mystery to me
but a movement of light in my peripheral
has me looking inward
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
I never wear gloves either.
The roses catch me everytime.
The birds are watching you,
especially,
when you tend your flowers.
Beautiful writing.
Thank you very much, Cindy. Have a lovely day!
Exquisite write!! ❤️
Thank you very much!