Through The Center

Soft to the touch, I peel the thin film covering the mirror
that are my eyes, seeing me through the circle's beveled vision
that is the ride I know as the steps I take in this shadow life.

Quiet, sliding, a dancer invisible to the sun's strong light,
I tiptoe around the silence waiting patiently under a timeless sky,
my breath a flitting butterfly vanishing under the moon and stars each time.

A pencil mark through the center of a circular piece of paper,
my words move, tiny robots in an endless line, 
reaching for bright colours beyond the horizon's night. 

I move, get lost, am found, where are you, who can tell
where the staircase takes us at night?
Hello, goodbye, cymbals weakening their rattled beat.

Soundless, sleepless, the mirror gathers shivers
sweet and sad, beyond the contour of the walls
holding our dreams and sighs.

Walking steady, sure and strong, spear in heart
and mind, the path moves on, ahead of my step
that searches with a warrior's heart for the river's reflection
where I left behind the drum marked with my blood, my tribe.


Trudi Ralston.
June 16th, 2016.