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Gates of Memory

November 18, 2009

Smoke curls shiver through
The frost-tinted air.
Mnemosyne waits, her
Fingers curled into
The thick fur of her
Dark, panting foxes.
Their breath melts the ice,
Brings warmth to her cheeks,
White and smooth as bone.

Time falls around her;
Ribbons of flame that
Dance to the music
Of her thumping heart.
She catches it in
Her hands, and blows the
Streams of yesterday
Into the air, bright
As twilight shadows.

Her free hand rests on
The bronze gate of time,
Of fluttering life;
Memory, pulsing
Beneath her pale skin,
Trapped in the abyss.
She looks ahead, then,
And smiles with too
Many, jagged teeth.

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