Medea (Deus Ex Machina)


Whatever’s said in this room stays
sacred, refuses to change its take,
won’t be taken the way pictures
words paint bleed vivid drip, spill secrets.

Under roses wilt missed chances
since candles melt better when one’s fame’s
greater than the person whose name
strangers buy. Impossible yet

transcendent light tonight I’ll play
against shadows when they gang and hang
upon your shoulders bent in wait
anticipating pain, make them sore

     from making faint my portrait’s frame.
     For you are, unaltered, one adored.


Before transformed, transfigured fate
appeared at my banquet unadorned.
Darkened until opened my door’s
gateway into my heart, offered gifts,

to sell me the world if traded
for more honest words, to never say
anything and be ignored. This
if only her metamorphosis

could occur in my arms, lest day’s
embrace delay her curse’s scourge. For,
as I learned, was her lover’s face
this visitor mistook mine, too sure

     a creature of error to place
     better, to be, so she became her.