Tapestries . Symbology . She Moves in Secret Places
Tapestries
A thousand phantom butterflies
in painted hues my shifting skies
caress, their spectral forms belied
in thread & dye, by night untied
& each in half-light flickering;
each to fade as it begins
to shine, its newborn trembling wings
unfurled in flight to truer things,
to haunt me as each sun sinks down –
what now remains of who I am?
& where each ghostly thread began
whose were the needle & the hand?
So while my self in only these
ghost-guided threads each day is wreathed,
tomorrow lies eternally
in tapestries I cannot see
Symbology
I mapped this world in metaphors;
a grid of living poetry,
a self dissolved in symbols
salvaged from a senseless dirge.
What is this web that I spin?
How many fathoms deep?
How many universes wide?
I have ever been the web itself spinning
where infinity and oblivion meet in mirrors -
How many hearts have I spun?
How many dreams and fabrications?
Am I the well from which each sprang, encoded with meaning -
the vapourous ocean from which each emerged, breathless
and bewitched by the searching flame that glittered beneath?
Am I the one before the next or the many all at once,
that symphony of endless constructions?
Naked, I am a motion, buried in symbolic selves.
How can I ever hope to be known?
This world can carry only illusions
and I long to be naked in true reflections
She Moves in Secret Places
She moves in secret places
where dark follows light follows void follows bliss
and she is tiptoe gold-dust dancing
rainbow rivers rushing
in secret, broken places
where footprints lie forgotten
and we in half-spun cocoons abandoned wait
while dark follows light follows her
rainbow rivers rushing
crippled feet slipping
blind madness fumbling
rainbow rivers rushing
not ours this time