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Bells ring through the dusk, soft and low. 
     Smokey eyes narrow. 
     Sultry pout on her lips. 
Wrapped in black lace and chiffon, 
     she twirls in graceful circles. 

Violin strums through the twilight, soft and low. 
     Black-shaded eyes dart. 
     Lips part ever so slightly. 
Silver feathers cascade from her hair. 
     Arms open to the onyx sky. 

Witchy apparition 
     that used to be a lady 
     sways on.
Breezy is the eve, song murmurs 
     from the deep.

A man in a fedora with a smooth walking stick 
     sees her through the looking glass, 
     reaches out. 
Fingers slip through a reviled hallucination. 
     She morphs into a silken raven. 

Head bowed in supplication,
     he is besieged by an invulnerable force. 
     He refuses to abjure his hope that he can hold her. 
A tambourine jingles lightly in her hand, soft and low.
     She twirls away.  

A disintegrated mirage.
     Tear slides from his eye.
     The music disappears.
Blinded by his sorrow,
     he walks away from the glass, now stained.

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