Future Mirrors
Cool are the winter cresses
In the oblique melancholy
A white statue crumbles into chalk
There is no more news today
Some final clippings were left hanging
On an old mottled clothes line
Listen to the silent doves
A grandfather clock is a bear ripping open
Doorways into infinitum
Listen to the silent doves
A grapefruit is a world turning in the hand
As you catch your ghost-half retreating in mirrors
A violent monsoon writes poetry on shores
As letter openers cut into midnight
Unfurling the stagnant portal
Fate is always non-negotiable
Against the great magnetic oceans
