Across the lake of Pasithea,
On the last breathe before sleep-
I spy a dark shadow nymph,
to take me to a fettered deep.
A demon and Nadier bow,
Tango to the west and east.
Chandelier of spider legs,
a diaphanous centre piece.
Lake becomes a sprung dance floor.
music flows from tin wind-chimes
feet on chinks of warm moonlight.
tap poetry in staccato rhyme.
The pieces fall where they will
sleep creeps down the rose clad wall.
The shade of death claims all he owns
as shadows settle in shattered bones.
-Dave Kavanagh
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