Ingenious hourglass pinching a single grain in your sourmash
till it Distills the moment you forgot to be a Slave to your Aftermath
Reigning Supreme at the center of your Winter’s Wrath
Dining on Porcelain Lions dancing on a Plinth of Glass Ravens
As they Laugh in awe of your Emancipation
No longer under Grief’s Lash.

Reflection never stutters…
utterly stuck to who you are, should you Ask.
Faithful to a crisp seeming in the eye halls of your last Gasp,
If only we Knew, before we struck Bells in the Ice Caves of
Our deported Masks- And save Ourselves completely
From Our Symphonies
Of Painful Past.

But for Now our Love
in a Paper Flask.