Perspectives
I might have seen,
(not on a movie or television screen),
but had looked where the mind flickers
when I am not there
to block the view.
In that place, where my dreams
see through a darkling glass,
skins and organs put on new clothes,
mind-bones structure the unfinished scaffolding
of forgotten lives.
Life-stories just threads in a flying carpet,
a legend for a Navaho shaman
to drape about his shoulders.
Perhaps reincarnation is a book of dreams
for insomniacs.
I watch for facets in a prism,
each one is cut into a hundred views,
a casting of what was or could be.
There are names and places,
all sorts of leasing’s
destined to always by-pass each other
until all arrive as one
in one multifaceted picture.
Those faces mean nothing much
until the mirror reveals your eyes watching,
as if you had just walked
through a door in a mega-mansion
you helped build.
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