in the hall of mirrors: three

I am the sacred essence, burnt from the cinnabar,
my red turned to vapours and living silver,
to catch your soul against the glass as I pass
across you, like a spirit over water, purifying
in my own way, I play on every curve and shadow.
I am shade and reflection, your perfection shown
in the truth of my act, a pact with the laws
of God and nature, details beyond your ability
to receive or perceive or conceive this rapture.
this capture of the instant that is now gone.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.