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.