Secerno Secrevi Secretum Poem by Phil de Lange

As he sits
deceptively in his comfort,
I watch reflections in a broken mirror
of the seventh year

His vision gapes just enough
to kill my presence-
an unwelcome lemon seed

A coward;
afraid of his deepest grace
finds pure serenity
in the wind at his doorstep-
yearning to enter

Circling with untouched contact,
I see a two faced reality
of these milky eyes;
wise stars
sealed by the mangled blue day

It is his...
It is mine...
but not ours.