The Eyes of Jesus | John O’Donohue I imagine the eyes of Jesus Were harvest brown, The light of their gazing Suffused with seasons: The shadow of winter,
The mind of spring,
The blues of summer,
And amber of harvest. A gaze that is perfect sister
To the kindness that dwells
In his beautiful hands. The eyes of Jesus gaze on us,
Stirring in the heart’s clay
The confidence of seasons
That never lose their way to harvest. This gaze knows the signature
Of our heartbeat, the first glimmer
From the dawn that dreamed our minds, The crevices where thoughts grow
Long before the longing in the bone
Sends them toward the mind’s eye, The artistry of the emptiness
That knows to slow the hunger
Of outside things until they weave
Into the twilight side of the heart, A gaze full of all that is still future
Looking out for us to glimpse
The jeweled light in winter stone, Quickening the eyes that look at us
To see through to where words
Are blind to say what we would love, Forever falling softly on our faces,
His gaze plies the soul with light,
Laying down a luminous layer Beneath our brief and brittle days
Until the appointed dawn comes
Assured and harvest deft To unravel the last black knot
And we are back home in the house
That we have never left. | 
