...that icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...

“...you mean you don't fit characters into a plot? excatly...”

“... yes I speak a different language - the dark fire of poetry - it flutters an…”

“....you were a jumble of broken bits of glass the sun caught and stained my sou…”

“...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep …”