gypsy hand

Too brite days

midnights that refuse to 

abide dark and secret

when empty phrases chant

to fairytale Moons

I tell myself

This is no ordinary room

This is no fleeting flittering life

This is a magical passageway

sparkling like mica, like miracles

 

Quiet traces

luminescent impression

a trailing kite tail binds

silent whimpers, sojourning whispers,

tears shining behind mime smiles

 

Crone's gnarled fingers, playing

to spite agony

simulate touch

beyond ache, 

too brite cell,

crouched scarred shadow

I cast silhouette of metamagic gypsy

hand

offering