Slashes in my walls caught winter moon and snow,
Trapped stars and leaves  now withered to dust,
I brooded the summer in mildewed carriage blankets
And they shielded me from night's inhaled magic;
I dreamed and felt windblown ghosts's dances.

The spider left a glyph set on my cheek,
Shining pale, it marked her spoor, she stopped,
Lightly stroked calm skin of my forehead,
Beating steps as danced by last year's leaves.

I lay, her quiet stage, pretending sleep;
The mime groped my night tinted face,
Seeking for something, I know not what.

She spelled ideas in tactile aye bee cease
With her gentle hand striking my temple,
Tapping letters outside my walling shell,
Words I don't know entlightened some skin cells.