A painting of a smile within a painting of a girl,

Eyes have known pain,

Flesh, flesh.

A ringed hand raises a cup to cratered lips parted
And wine trickles through wordless orifice
Through a body of no one’s knowing.

The ringed hand chops down
And the cup explodes upon the table.

Silence follows.

Across the room the painting smiles
Or perhaps it is a painting of a smile.

Outside, many years ago,

A light storm.

Her face.

Fingers clawed the clay.

Dawn diminishes the cold photon fire
That flies from rusted wheels of trains
Crashing through my windows.

I walk through Hilbert space
Infinity glued to my skin.

God gambles at my feet with a Roman
For my seemless word.

Out! I cry with vanished desire.

Darkness creeps backwards

Facing the Dawn and bowing now and then.

I begin to sag against infinity
Strangling softly, strangely.

Women weeping.

Then I see her for a moment
Silhouetted lightly on a tall cliff.

Her thin arms rising and falling
To some percussion in my head.

An alien familiarity.

Her eyebrows are raised slightly
And her mouth is a straight line.

She directs something,

Something I barely feel.

I can feel it now more than before.
It is her intention.