Torn to ribbons that

articulate the storm,

tongues thrashing

in colorfully threaded air,

waterfalls in mirrors

that glide on silent wheels,

reflections living ten alternate lives

spiders dancing

driven mad by magnets,

the heart as an ancient tool.

Mysteries of undreamed worlds

emerging from the paths

leading into the last vast forest.

Lips of ebony and vine

speaking from the walls

that melt at dawn.

Patios crowded

with flashing rattled eyes

lonely memories of crowded spaces.

Leaves in tumult

blown from roots and branches,

each singer swooning

in the high bells

of different chords,

the way of the keys

extended past sense

and far past

meek infinity.