This morning I was hearing measures in our dream meter again. They are terse, as usual; short lines don’t permit a lot of explication. As always, everything means more than one thing. They only sound as mysterious as need be–we would be content with prose if there were no mysteries to be invoked. As so often, this has a sting in its tail–and title. This title is highly significant. The last line quotes the content of the message received. It says, Let ‘her,’ not let ‘me.’ So who sent it?

24 February 2021


A Third Person

Tell me how the light of silver

first became the shining veil

and then the face beneath it, wilting

sadly–teller, tell the tale–

Outside by the lore of darkness

sorrow is not gained or lost

only magnified by starlight

through a lace of needle-frost

become a hermit-chamber’s curtain

keeping secrets close inside

even as the stars all curse–their

spears are small the air is wide–

little celebrations brighten

future moods unseen for now

razor sharp the bitter light of

looking at her eyes and brow

clouds amass and close the window

mind is changed but still in doubt

nothing ever happens incense

used to but it’s long gone out

she was by the window shining

light became her she became

intimate with my desire as

something in her shone the same

or seemed to shine–the broken window’s

tear-refraction meant my eye

unveiled a deeper secret signal–

let her let her let her die.


About J

formal verse poetry and commentary at
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