I watch butterfly on eyes of statue,
This cemetery is full
Of shifting interchanging whispers
About themes for my
Final dream. Drawn to a rose, I take
It home and the blood released from
My finger by rose becomes clear
In the mirror, first tear perhaps
Of future incarnation. In final
Dream I am trapped
With angel of death
In wilderness of mirrors whose
Reflections mime cemetery whispers
And a dream within this
One in which I am excavating
Panopticon of tattooed
Lightning for wings and searching
For scaffolding of a sky
Collapsing as I surrender gravity.
Ready to sleep I instruct
Spider to make sure his web
Is placed for spaces
For the stars.
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