The Silk Dress
You have spun me a dress of blue silk
and left it slipping over my bed
like a silverfish caught in mercury light.
And if I wear it, will it transform me
into something I am not? Will it bathe my skin
in moonbeams, let me dance through
shadows, under eaves of possibilities,
around moments of calm,
and lustrous pools of daring dreams?
Or, will it fasten with the cold certainty
of rusted hooks and eyes, moulding
me into a foregone conclusion?
Like the shaky script on old foolscap,
will it crease with the ink-stained weight
of its own grand illusion,
wearing me down with countless layers
of ancient tulle and roped brocades,
and mute, forgotten linings hidden in silent seams?
Image (c) by Mark Demsteader. You can link to his website and see more of his work here: http://demsteader.com/