Today the sun is a cloud,
sprouting green hair
A waterlogged mast,
rises from mist
They meet in a room,
best described as anonymous
In a darkened room,
a different room
pierced by a beam of light,
scrutinizing reflections
rows of empty faces,
not looking back
they believe the words,
birds form in the sky
possess human faces,
Is that who is peering down
from crenellated clouds,
Is that who is just now
stepping out of the clock to sing,
Today a blue flower ascends
through layers of a fiery lake,
Today they meet in a room
best described as synonymous,
These are pictures of things
they do not see on the wall,
before them
ghostly songs haunting the stories,
they try again and again to tell
First Interlude
It is red when the gray
starts swelling around
the base of the sky’s stalk
and the threat
or thread of the future
no longer seems quite so far away
Could we not one day
meet on the other side of the mirror
from where the dust gathers.
Could we not stay
in that room of
difficult light
Second Interlude
This pitted figurine
is a monument
to the perfection of torsos
seized from spheres of smoke
Am I not a slave
to your obedience
when my hands
describe you in the dark
I am here
I am not here
Can these places
not be the same place
a voice calls to the birds interred in the mirroring sky