and then some things look better somewhere else


GOTH
The steamed mirror a perfect slate.
Her finger sketching a watery tale.
Of tearglazed flowers on a long dead tree.
Of the mirrored farce of a desert's sea.

Of EXIT signs in the middle of a show.
Of dark cobbled lanes the highwayman trod.
Of the blood red rose marking the hole.
Where the bullet passed her and tore his soul.

And when new water down the mirror flows.
Her face distorts in its zigzagged rows.
A blurred reflection stirring up ghosts.
Of old oblivions, of old resolves.