In A World of Shadows and Reflections

The man exists only
on the other side of the revolving door –
except revolving doors
by definition
have no sides.

Twin doves coo
in a white birch tree, barren of leaves –
but in a twist of head and fate,
I tread on ravens,
stark in dead limbs.

Whispers caress the shell curl
of a sleeping ear –
as an explosion of imaginary sound
awakens the dreamer,
disturbed by the dream.

A constant and complacent companion
conspicuous in her absence –
paints black pictures on sunstruck walls,
but lives a secret life
between death and darkness.