Looking glass into dust.
Eyes that flare.
Longing for an answer,
searching for what is not there.

A perch a wooden dowel.
Gaze scouring the horizon.
A near sight curse,
back turned to let the knife in.

Bottle an elixir,
to give apathy to all.
Passion proves too burdensome,
too tender,
and too sore.

Adorn the furs and silks,
ring the mighty bell.
Hold the weeping frame,
and let her stumble in her veil.