by gailrayaia, on Instagram

Image by Gail Rayaia

Mythical among us —
old gods, new nymphs, ‘dryads’
not formed of living trees

but creating spaces
in-between life & clockwork —
steampunk ingredients

self-assembling from once
living things, a kind of
urban camouflage. Watch.

When startled, she clutches
a handful of sunlight
that slivers in her grip,

breaking into bladed
bars of light and dark, fanned,
fading. Venetian blinds?

She transforms, tangled locks
not blurring into leaves
that shiver in the breeze,

but instead lace and silk,
colored threads blooming bright,
tassels bobbing in curls,

curls unraveling. Shy,
she fades behind the bits
of constructed clutter,

and when you look again
you see only curtains
swaying, bookshelves, candles,

wreaths of fabric flowers,
a wooden mantelpiece
carved with the word “believe.”


4 responses to “Mythical

  1. I like the hidden mystery images that pop up in so many colorful forms in this poem.

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