The Gallery

See the perfect figure weave
Through the basement quarters ducking at the eaves
Bussing candle wax and cufflinks for her keep
She's seen it all before

In the kitchen steeping wildflower tea
Wishing now that she could rearrange the leaves 
All her quiet years assemble in their grief
Lining up behind the door

Written on her arm in twisted green
Is a future that she never learned to read
Spilling to her fingers it repeats
Until there's nothing left to pour

Used to be when all at once you were at ease
Used to be when you felt something in your sleeve
Now the porcelain is shattered at your feet

From the rumor of an ordinary scene
Is a fear you never wanted to believe 
The exhibition of an unintended dream
From the moment you were born

On the edges of a temporary wing
And in the silence before everything retreats
She drops the cup and just as suddenly we see

The lonely painted lines behind her knees
From an orange window's easier love will gleam
And you might know what visionaries would have seen
Painting drapes behind the war

Sketching butchered children at the feast 
Whose star-crossed fortunes in a moment lie complete
Disentangled from their destiny they meet
Flaming out along the floor