I’m the reason you see.  I’m on the end table. 

I wait in the Lions International box,

Out of her peripheral replaced by phoropter prisms – blinders on a spooked mare,
glass-encrusted arachnid diadem at the corrective self-care

Masquerade.

I can no longer improve
Her new spectrum
Because sight isn’t the problem.

Vision is.

She leaves in Versace.
I wait in the Lions International box.