The Coming Season

A crooked, lightless face stares at me with a frown of grief. How do I see the world in the tarnish of the mirrors in the bazaar? Is this me? I see the gleam of your eyes behind the abandoned mirrors. It is you. You are laughing. How do you see the world? With your beautiful eyes what world do you see ........ ........ ........your world is brimming with beauty ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........beyond this bazaar. You call me to cross this bridge: our last stage, my wandering love! ........ ........ ........is never this tarnish...