The first phantom

Is twenty white faces in broken glass

An eye where a nose should be

Four mouths fighting to be seen

The second phantom

A face of black silk melted onto marble

Horned like the devil yet silent,

Like a regal Fury.

And what I behold before the great void

A tragedy written in a living mural,

The face of the white phantom bursts

Into a silver phoenix,

Ebony peacock feathers explode from

The Fury’s neck like a crown.

Claws, wings, teeth

Surging and pushing against some

Invisible barrier of liquid smoke.

Their grotesque mouths move yet the sound

Is of muted mourning screams.

A silent longing

Unheard by my mortal ears.

A singular desire to erase

Each self,

And fuse into an almighty being.