46 • LEGACY
BY JAMIE JANSEN Twisted yellow fingers fork and clutch Like tongues of fire Burning with the slightest touch There is a stately mirror In a golden museum room Full of golden remnants Of a fallen empire The drowning ghost of its past gasping for air Struggling to touch these present times Through the writhing reflection The viewer turns away Burned by the touch of gold And steps into the street A soft amber moon Lies amid a sea of stars Like a woman on a bed of roses Letting them flow over and past her Down to touch herself again Like the touch of a mermaid on her glassy sky But the amber moon is only the reflection of a lamp in a puddle And the stars are snowflakes Preserved for us in reflection Still as ice Snowing stars Until it become silver in the cold sunshine of morning
