Technicolor Winter

Above, there is a sky so blue

That all my miracles may have

Places in which

To hide, to breathe -- and to trickle

Down upon a solitary

World. Once, a blackness held my eyes

With fingers small and

Plenty, heavy as the snow.

A bronze snake curls across the land,

A river iced by the frost of a

Coming white Winter --

Sand and stones hidden below the

Swirls like precious gems. Breath explodes

From the lanced mouth, burning its path

Like a nova-light

In the spiraling Autumn weather.

A Technicolor world inspired

By the mothlike flutter of her

Eyes, luminous as

Twin moons. Her voice the whisper of

Death on an ancient Summer’s eve,

Dry and deep and pitiful. She

Is young as a new

Lamb, ugly with her pealing skin

And lumpish textures. Ugly, with

Her framed eyelets, though once bright.

Ugly with lips that

Enclose a border too large. She

Burns clearest on those moony nights,

Fingers torn from biting and rage,

Liquid in her eyes

As she croons a black lullaby.

Healing comes on as a blanket,

Though the heat is stronger sometimes,

She will don her strange