Shattered glass becomes dust like snow when through
The shield love bloomed shards fly into their demise.
The trick, Halloween dressed up as a White Christmas.
On the dark floor awaiting stars arrival in their hearths
I curl and refabricate my myths to cast out old voices,
Old stories that connect me to the thing I cannot name,
Because inside all of these, my dark shades that flourish,
These nightmares, are stars that cannot be counted as
They descend here spinning to make time to save me
Part of my breath, my frosted breath like a soul’s bead
Drawn out for stealing until the stag dances on the lake,
Until I see among these stars, the myths most trusted.
(C) 2019 S Francis Fuller