Through mirror’d days and passing dreams
when things are not quite as they seem,
she made her way on slippered feet
toward the yawning pit of grief.
There was no time for clear-drawn sight,
the world was shawled, there was no light
and time held breath as if to curse
the hope and trust for which she yearned.
And in a moment, falling still
Love screamed and threw herself to hell
for in the knowing that pain brought
the mirror shattered … all was lost.
Upon the dregs and dross of self
she lay and keened, and cruelly wept
for all the truths and lies that lay
upon the barren, broken way.
And by her sat the dark-drawn bride,
touched withered hands to brittle pride
and called in crooning voice so sweet
for woman, drawn … herself to meet.