heart made of stainglass rose
origami promises
placed before the cracking altar
of
her
mind
whispering enchantments
meant only for the ears
of translucent doves
pretty paper gloves
torn by time and wear
s l i p p i n g
ever so gently over her gnarled
black glass hands
like obsidian running down my back
smell of faded rose blossoms
parchment
and misspent youths
shes reaches for the sky
a gossamer cloud of spasming light
arms and wings unfolding
welcoming death's steed
an ethereal blossom welcoming rain
her dove flies away
a speck of freedom
dotting the blueblank canvas of her eyes
she looks at and turns away
'some things,'
she says,
'can't be caught with cages.'
© 1999 m. hughes
