they led her to their gentle tomb
a glass and steel fleshless womb
and all the voices from without
became as cymbals, sounding gongs

they wove a magic blanket for her eyes
a sleight of hand which hid
the barren stone inside their heads
and made them seem as gods

they held perfection an inch before
her starving, outstretched fingers
they held it north or south wherever
the madness of the moment decreed

they stripped her of all the thick
rich words which might have shown
the chasms in between their smooth
and barren geometric lies

yet she ran fearless into their magical night
abandoning her curiosity for their dream
and for a brief moment ascended wildly
on the hot white heat of their truth
before falling, frail ash to earth.

©  1984 J.L.Stanley
Magical Night