I Am in image,
your skirt with a pencil,
a bristled-brush,
dipped and set aglow,
grey-fire-rays torch,
down the river, ever-living-waters,
for All, geometric evokes--
emotive bolts, the diamond metals,
of Mexico, a gift from my Manzanita
friend with candied-appled-cheeks.
You were asked to record their voices,
not only mind, but spirit too! Not a witch,
but an angel! She hates a scoffer, but is not this
real? A sin, ……………………………………………(!)
as guard of the spaces,
in which you are allowed to create?
How lucky for her, that her mother,
was a cynic-cyanide, carried
a little, brown bottle,
with a glass stopper,
just in case.