The Looking Glass

Rearranging this board amid the stillness of the early morn; silence Takes her hand as shifting sands; careful the brush, a thoughtful stroke.. What's the hurry she says a cup of coffee and cigarette, there's no one there ? She closes her eyes a batch of butterflies fly by, circling waterfalls in purple skies With golden locks their diamond crowns; silver bells, tubular clouds; we were young.