When Mirrors Speak Time

When the mirror is still... time speaks. In the year without number.

I bent iron into rhyme. Watched lions drink the shadow. Of a sun

that was not mine. Three crowns slept beneath one moon. Silk burned where

wine had been. I hid the key inside the lock. So none

could enter in. Then from the ash of after years.

A figure crossed the seam. Not born of my dominion. Yet fluent in

my dream. You came when the hour had no name. Bearing tomorrow's dust.

You asked which signs were breathing still. And which had turned to