Monday, December 7, 2009

Thin Gypsy Veils

Memory is a pale, frail lady
Dancing through the streets
A whirling cloud of gypsy veils

Sinking in subtle structures of sight
Rolling as fog from flickering flames
Mounted atop the limbs of iron gargoyles

Her toes trace the slick armies of shells
Her gait rings upon the cobblestone labyrinths
Her steps match me with rhythm and rhyme

I pass hollow upon looking glasses
My eyes no more than broken windows
Mounted atop shuttered, ebony panes

Her essence borne upon an endless sigh
Her mystery mimics the manner of the missed
As the dew of wine upon lips yet unkissed.

- circa 1996

I wrote this late one night, a terribly long time ago. I remember I was singing when I came upon the idea. I know a Leonard Cohen song inspired a line or two therein. It's hard to want to remember much else.

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