Wednesday, March 01, 2017


She promised you you would see her again.

So you imagine her with a thousand faces
waiting for you beyond the clouds,
beneath the sea, deep under the earth.

You know the straight path can only go awry. You write
in glancing arabesques, hoping
to reveal her shape, as curling waves by Hokusai
reveal space.

You never look-- or is it hidden from you--
what we, helpless adoring, see plain as day.

The horned shadow at your feet.

Your frame
--a fearful symmetry.

For Peter Beagle

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside

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