Invariant Mystery

 

Every time, the very time I

Doe the lotus pad of

My Father’s hall

I am arrested by the irregular reflections

Of a cadence so sublime, the afternoon

Glazing the wood-boards like a tin melt

Of golden sun, Apollo’s call drifting on the floor...

 

It was

 

The war of mirrorii

A wasteland opus

Monster, my child, my child

Where is his star tonight? Filing the box of shadow

Into a dark I see without eyes

Gaze here

 

she was being as someone else too

dreaming of love

The sky raining in colors

 

Gathered in the atrium of fading remission

my self syncing to you

Tonight, them

within a quest of the insane

I love you with no core

autoimmune