Gabriel

GABRIEL

Hand is a hindrance, Gabriel, fingers in the way . . . souls slip

between incomplete triangles, tangles of irregularity.

The sparrow sings her joyous song, witness to the

invisible collision,

immortal connection.

Reflection indicates a weaving, but

projection impels the sometimes ensnarement that ensues

when angel makes mistake—no going back on fate.

Dates and deaths and births and breaths,

the fall improved but not avoided.

How much happier would we be—brightest one—

if your strength were failing?

Your aim ailing?

What good does the birdhouse when the birds are indecisive?

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Nocturne

NOCTURNE

it is the night descends, brown and dusty, powder loosed unceremoniously

from hands divine, hazy raiment for a world undressed

the gentle gossamer of predilection

and flicker the shadow of presumption, conjured in modest moments

the afterglow of a flare forbidden, silhouette of small white petals turned gray

a beauty recognized though not realized

a buzzing of drowsy bees within, prairie of peculiar embrace

upon fleet feet the couriers of oblivion put to rest

all watchfulness, the agents of our qualms

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Conquest

CONQUEST

In dreaming seem our cornered failings

Fragile things, in cages flailing

Minions to our ailing angels

Crystal starlight quickly paling.

In wishing spoil our great endeavors

Decompose a life dissevered

Headlong into clever maws

They drop into mundane whatevers.

In hoping warp our heart’s inclinings

Rigid rings of ice entwining

Bones within the spining backs

Of creatures sick with others’ whining.

In daring wax our regnant conquests

Prove our mettle, natures undressed

Crash the waves whose unrest we

Must apprehend at will’s behest. 

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Wax Museum

WAX MUSEUM

nocturnal humor makes its place

within a mansion moribund

we don't approve its impish face

but quail, but blanch, for being stunned

which room encapsulates the wax

museums where shape our urges shunned

the marionettes in stilted acts

carve figures out of yielding stuff

sweet wanton visions of what lacks

the visitors they cry, enough!

in hallways angled to reflect

odd myriad images made to bluff

for if the eye did close inspect

it scarce could catch the clever cheat

must turn them inside out, dissect

the bits within the dummies' meat

we'll find our mirrored selves a trace

of candled sundries turned effete

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