She’s an enigma encry
pted in the fissures of mag
icians’ tricks,
Arms of missing links
or hidden, scrapped in litt
le bits and she never sends them in
a kiss. Free to chat –
I need to ask – but talk about it in
a bit so her tongue’s a syno
nym for Venetian masks. Fea
tured padlocks in her spee
ch’s dance,
I’m a weakened man; her weekend man.
Pretending envelopes received their
stamps; regardless, her wo
rds are open plan, sudoku, brok
en an
d swallowed whole like
notes in class.

Stained glass and castle wa
lls, Aesop’s fables, battlements Picasso dra
ws, abstract inventions like

like metaphors?

Readers tour words, pull curtains;
Store mirrors, touch mirages;
Decipher all the hieroglyphs;
We spend our cryptic time on it.
We spend hours defining how an artist works;
Solving labyrinths in elusive worlds;
Enticing illusions in illusive patterns
And question syllables with intrusive powers.
So, maybe
There’s a beauty in translucence I cannot see in the transparent.