To the brown-eyed girl

From me, the observer, to you, the brown-eyed girl.

Your eyes,
They are not brown.  They are
The setting sun washing over me
Through pools of amber. They are
Shards of a stained-glass mosaic
plucked from the center of where
I find inspiration. They are
Polished-brass portals through which
I step through. 
And on the other side, Life seems
Less unbearable; the future,
Less uncertain; My anxieties and fears,
Less of a burden.  My longing for you,
Less of a memory.

More of a presence.