How could I do this for Melanie? How could I paint her 
soft, serene and sickly sweet? I've got smeared colors 
all in front of me and yet the picture always dries so 
neat. How could I do this for Monica, when I cringe at 
every word I hear her speak? My guitar and harmonica are 
smoothing out her voice, though I feel weak. I've got 
more I want to say, but old eyes get in the way  an old 
prescription tinting her a lighter gray. Old feelings, 
still the same. Why did I keep the frames? They blur the 
faces yet I still recall the names. These glasses take 
the blame. How could I do this for Miriam? Every line I 
write, it still inspires awe. Every noun, every homynm 
describes her as still within the boundaries of the law. 
There's more I could convey, but these eyes get in the 
way. They lack the smarts to grade the scene that's on 
display. Vision is tunnel straight, but it's a little 
late for the hope of a child who never left the starting 
gate. These glasses took the bait.