She is a night shedding the night
like the twining serpent’s skin
that, with each round and word,
has just grown too old and tight.
So that she too is like a verse
and song which, to be, had to
learn and know how to flow
and smoothly glide and let go
what doesn’t meet or see
the flicker aglow in her eyes
for to perceive it is to pierce
death’s deep with what abides:
and only then these aged prison bars
may change into aureate music’s warps.
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