She opened my eyes.
I came, I saw, I did not conquer. I watched.
I saw the landscape from the hill.
But I still sit on the hill alone, glass in hand, watching.

I see no difference in what I see.
Through the glass or without.
Surely I think I'm smarter than that.
Only I'm not.
And all that's real to me is the grass.
And the glass in my hand, alone.