I kept quiet as a mouse
Soppy did too; we stayed snake close
to the ground in the tall grass

we didn't hear no hounds,
but that didn't mean them dogs
weren't there

Soppy and I had done
what old lady Lucinda said--waded in the deep creek
a good hour to leave them curs nothin' to sniff

with my one clear eye
I could see them flames bobbin' up and down
like gold ghosts in the willows

the air smelled like rain
I prayed real hard it would come down
drown out them fires

that would be one mighty sign
the good Lord heard my prayers
and took pity on us

Soppy, me and whatever other souls
hid in the devil's dark, watchin' the flames,
fearin' they meant eternal damnation

This monotony is killing me,
don't stumble self,
with aching feet.
You'll live this Hell
and then be free
you too must help
to keep the peace.
I close my eyes
and breathe in deep,
to dissipate the energies
that lurk inside the dark to seethe,
I know they're living here with me.
It's funny how to me they're beasts,
yet I'm the one with claws and teeth,
a flaming sword for cutting free
the things that aren't meant to be.

I may find it beautiful but,
you may find it unusual.

I am bathed in light
Feelings come and go in waves
As it thaws my heart

I woke up to hammers playing songs in my brain about the sky
My fingers ****** from holding you in my dreams
Waves of light crashed into the rocky shoreline of my eyes
And my stare bore a hole through the paper I was holding
With no intentions of reading even the headlines

The only story that I know
I remembered the body of a woman
The dimpled smile too simple but complicated
The beautiful dimples on her lower back
It was on earth where I held venus

I woke up the same way as before
But somehow everything was strange
I was exhausted from the way you loved me in my dreams
And the way I'll never see you again
I woke up
And I was too tired to drink my coffee

1.
You slipped out in the night
leaving only
your period piece illustrations
of lament configurations
and braided wyrm coils
burrowed and replicating
in hollows of sorrow

2.
The best I can do is
listless digging through
your scrapped dream junk gears
and pointed dagger crystals coalesced
all around contraband gifts
scattered throughout

3.
At this point I'd even settle for one more night
so our last moment isn't a
backlash conversion pressed
at the back of the neck
whispering
it's
all
over
now

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt

Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.

From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive.  But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.

His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.

Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words,  confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.

                                                
~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mirror by Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.