A New Kind of Gray in Limbo

Fireflies. Hums from somewhere I can't find;

the stars twinkle and bend at the apex.

Feathered wings flapping, time descending;

a little halo around my nimbus,

a little halo around my shell.

Cold wings play with angels and lutes

and trumpets and drums. Fairy fluttering,

forest with echoes, owl hoots, and chimes.

Tear apart yesterday. Keep it all

from bending at the nimbus, my limbus.

Fireflies dotting in my memory. Pupils

half there, half escaping out heaven's door.

I can slip out the ether, float onward,

downward to the River, the River of Styx.

Slowly, quietly, happily, fondly

in a dance with a satyr. His horns

like two stars orbiting around each other.

Membranes

paint my memories. Soft shapes

and sharp curves

piece together the blue crystal city. Blue

and breathy,

fireflies. Dew encrusted leaves.

A new kind of gray in limbo.

The opening and closing,

shutting my eyes, transitions,

the hemline of a portal.