Here she is, anything
can be asked of her
Sea gravel underfoot
Behind a guillotine before
the soda jerk opens it
to a glass vegetable spread
with cutlass smiles
her mime complexion
in this photograph
to be still life beauty
before a night of trekking
because she only wants
to escape our plan
move away from a Lady in a Lake
through dumb waiter
lobbies filled with hands
crawling to catch her
spilling voodoo guitar hands
The bug carnies sing
the same song
But different as a melody
polished
by children with cancer,
or to brush
her filament wings as angel flutes
that can break the sound mirror
with a cough;
to share a tune
with death,
and kinless troubadours
to light a wick
over their tents
so they can run back
with flashlights