with what there is to see

when I was young, 

I could lookout and see.

and I would be enthralled 

with what there was to see,

as it impressed me with visuals of impact.

when I was slightly older,

I could look out and see,

and I would wonder,

what does it mean,

and who made it that way,

and why it is that way so.

when I was than older,

I could look out and see,

and I would glance and surmise,

run an internal dialogue about it,

have some history anecdotally,

as if to say,

ponder its worth,

and take my looking somewhere else.

when I got much older,

I could look out and see,

puzzled as to what I was seeing,

then remember all about it,

as connected to everything else I knew,

pondered how times flies,

based on memory's reflection upon it,

as if I was a monument watching time pass.

and when I was just plain old,

I could look out and see,

feign some sort of interest,

possibly quizzical in my looking status,

and reflect on how I see.

ask, who of me is doing that looking?

more aware of the burden of memory,

inwardly to be aware 

of who of me shows interest,

and wondering how experience really works.

almost cynically asking,

what's the point.

but now, truly fascinated with, 

what's it supposed to mean to me,

and who of me is then now watching?

what sight has introduced?

and where in me that visual went?

and how now has so much less interest in surface,

and so much more interest in this inward enterprise. 

how fascination, which started out so fresh and clean,

eventually became this observation style,

where introspection is reflective

and meaning is just a useful appliance,

while ongoing has it own wherewithal.

and seeing out is now a window,

in a world of deeper self-witness.

where I am once again so young to it.

and I could look in and see.

and I am enthralled

with what there is that's there,

as it impresses me with impact,

beyond what experience seems to have 

sensorially offered . . .