The Second Commandment
she as Gala's incarnation
stained upon glass
of soul
of red prarie
and Hudson river valley
in the portal of wind swept plains that moves her ghost shadow
from the snarling of wolves
and libertines
and stone quarries
of cemetery
and pantheons of laughter
as Gala's ghost
she brandishes beauty
and language
into the future of mesmerizing dance;
that mystic hand
that rhythmic hand
along the edges of timeless love
more noble than icons
or manacles
she is not Gala encased in glass in summer
but rather dances
and shatters locks
that sculpted her in prisons
she is not Gala
but mist
and dew
that gently feeds this dark
she is not Gala
but kisses each towering fear