This is a book full of beautiful images, of wide eyed wonder with the sheer beauty,terror of the collections subject matter.
Fantastic creatures climb off the page to converse with the reader on items as mundane or as mythical as the readers credulity,or to curl up & slowly bleed to death whilst you shout your denials.
Into my mirror has walked
A woman who will not talkOf love or of its subsidiaries,But who stands there,Pleased by her own silence.The weather has worn into herAll seasons known to me,In one breast she holdsEvidence of forests,In the other, of seas.
I will ask her nothing yet
Would ask so muchIf she gave some sign-
Her shape is common enough,
Enough shape to love.But what keeps me hereIs what glows beyond her.
I think at times
A boy's bodyWould be as easyTo read light into,I think at timesMy own might do.
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