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In the Room
by David N. Muxo
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"In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo" T. S. Elliot Like standing stalks of corn they rustle In the wind, their words like silken fingers Reaching out. But there are panes of plexiglas Between them, keeping out and keeping in, A labyrinth of loneliness. They wander here and there with Pirandello on Their lips, crystal people In a land of mirrors. Who is real And who is duplication? They reflect into infinity, eternal. A winter wind, their words swirl down The hallways of my soul and try Each padlocked door. Indifferent to them I talk of time and space. Misunderstanding me they measure Circumstance. I wait, within my crystal cave. These seven singing virgins With these seven youths Approach their sacrifice, and are consumed. Separately they pass away, Their sounds diffusing into emptiness. A silence hangs like tapestries Across the universe. Alone, I dream the coming of my Theseus. |