A Winter's Tale

    
When the language of mirrors haunts the tongue,
in the dark every mirror is a black sun.

We are hidden in the middle of each other
like the dwarf of myself in your eyes.

Dark river, pewter moon rising;
the night sky bends over the land like a lost lover.

In the middle of a winter's night
I have found in you a fire I can live by.

This morning an eloquent pantomime:
shadows of leafless trees on the wall.

Marjorie A Buettner  
Minnesota, US
*Previously published in Lynx