She Is

I have no eyes that can be seen.
I frame them Egyptian black,
but they are weak windows
the gods do not notice.

My soul blazes behind them,
but they remain so dim.
Where is my soul?

She speaks sometimes,
Suddenly my tongue.
You might hear her—
And she is divinely beautiful.

Why does my body hide her?
It’s not even a reflection.
Not even smoked glass.