" The Weirdbox"
The same god that carved my name
in your rib instilled an instinct
to fashion virtual rosewood,
fill its darkness with silver.
Pandora fingers threw in blood
and dreams; coincidence and Kismet
jangled together with eye glances
of chalcedony and charm.
It was hungry and sated in turn,
Januaries and Junes of cosset
and neglect fed and starved
according to how sun dice
and frost leaves fell.
This is the heart of us,
something almost untouched;
A focus for tangled glitter and guilt.
This is the dream-well of our souls,
the price of the ferryman.
© 2003 Vienna (Carole Barley)
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