It’s trying to communicate tonight,
so open the tome and light three tapers.
This pen does beckon magic oxygen,
and the gateway awaken’d now vibrates.
I sense shadows on my wall in the dark
looking glass that cloaks the secret things,
as another slips through these doors,
in the haunted keep of the lonely dweller.
The lure of soft purple incense calls me
to the one awakened from the long sleep,
while learning to leave the world of chaos,
where sad things melt into useful nothings.
May my portal’d glass reveal sub rosa,
whisper’d things in truth unblurr’d
in the shadows of the shell of myself,
as I peer into your sable eyes on this eve.
When I sense a crack in my roof,
your words arrive as absinthe rains,
dancing through my empty pages.
What sayeth my darkling mirror?
All images of daguerreotypes, ambrotypes, tintypes, cabinet cards, and postcards are from the author’s private collection. Photographs appearing on this writer’s pages on this site are licensed.
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Author’s Edit History (on Close Readings)
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Link to a close reading of this poem:
https://michaelcantrall.wordpress.com/2026/09/10/a-critical-analysis-of-lines-composed-before-a-scrying-mirror/
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