In The Prizm of Her Downfall Light

A muse speaks

In the Prizm of Her Downfall Light

My muse is strong
As she whistles through the windows
And sharp bent covers
In
The prizm of her downfall light.

Soars above this Mythic Wood
These rivers of her silences
Collects the water pebbles,
That echo through this forest land,

Puts words and vowels and sounds
In lines of distant choruses;
This crash of all her seas rise up
To sing her silent song.

Touch her long hair draped on pure white
quiet-skin
Red rings and curls and trusses fire,
The corner of her long-eye
Freezes salt and stones and rhymes;

In the prison of her downfall light.

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