Sky Death

Stealth garrote, diaphanous B-1 of
demon past, wings supersonic at the

mental defense encircling my brain.
I startle from my Rorschach dream

under the filigree super scrim upon
me. It supersedes my deep dream

with a stark, clear reality undreamt.
Faute de mieux, I drowsily reflect in a

phrase I learned in college French that
now comes unbidden to mourn me.