G-d bless my tongue
and erase my selves which cling to pride at the work of the pen
There is one poet
and a thousand voices
Reflections of reflections
Man looks up from a sword
stood amidst shattered wood
a broken cross
empty veins
the shadow of the form of a mirror
staring straight into abyss
A voice once said, their god is dead
and they have killed him
but the scene looks more like a suicide
Sunlight drifts gently down
rays catching the wind
whispering into his ears
forehead tans
eyes squint
thoughts from the clouds
written in the emptiness
patterns only visible
when staring straight at the void between them
the etchings flicker, burn
black fire on white
single letters and full words
placed in the mouth
moving within
man opens his eyes
and knowing beauty,
becomes it
the dust fallen from the chisel gathers
tiny mounds
writhing ants
skin prickles
hair rises
chokes on dirt
and feeling fear,
becomes it
from inside his fear, there is no beauty
it hides in the woods
beneath the surface of the lake
moon rises
casts her light upon the waves
each crest glows
reflections of reflections
He looks at his image
bathed in starlight
and leans into the waters
center shifts
falling upward
reflections of reflections
to the bottoms of the mountains
and the pillars of the earth
beauty tangled in the weeds
reaches out, wraps about wrists
opens eyes
whole again
center shifts
vines release
the currents guide
falling upward
reflections of reflections
breaks out onto shore
Hands raised and
Eyes wide
Stood firm like
a tree planted in the field
the sky opens
black fire on white fire
one word
unto itself
Beauty
and man becomes a mirror
