Ghost Images
       

1/
The mind's a mad cupboard, blackened silver, cups and thimbles.
The mind's a jerky focusing machine still stuck on the girl
who hung by her knees.

And within the camera [opening : closing] — fireworks.
                        I mean within the empty box the light's frantic,
grappling with: the monk, the match, the gasoline.

The mind is likewise occupied, its light piteously stark, distorted
— but which of us can ever look away?

2/
Into the angular cranium levers lift cold light, but
how dark and small the box
And hands must hold the camera still, so stop your breath

            [so stop your breath]

That's how you coax something into the box, something bloody or blood-lit,
a headless rooster or snipe — your attention split.

Seeing the two worlds.

Copyright © 2009 Deborah Bogen All rights reserved
from Let Me Open You a Swan
Elixir Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission