in the backdrop

where your eyes meet and go

dare you stare into a fragile ghost

and then hear voices that speak to you

never to recall where you were or might

have been or seen but the plain whispers

grip you and make you ask over and over again

as if the mirrors of the invisible wall cast a spell

over your soul and then you did a turn around

played the theme over and over again

but like a lucky eight ball in the corner pocket

you were so close to the gutter ball

but like magic you made things happen

and it was all in view