Subterranean

Her spirit does something. It’s fair and in between. I study
And twist a lock; and she shines symbolic. I’ve seen it thrice in 
Seventeen years. What is such mystic? The world is different;
And a phoenix guards the gate. I often muse in flight; and

So many fire Spirit; and so many nurture spirit; and thus, a
Revelation is near. I feel, akin to St. Paul: in seclusion for
Several years. I must see and feel and wake and live; for
Spirit moves; and such a mist; and such a Christ; and God

Is light; but what of her spirit? It dared to speak; and I dared
To promise; and love is swirled. There’s a riddle. She speaks
In shrouds. I drift a pasture; and ponder visions. Her spirit: a
Trance of colors; and I dare point and touch a schism. What
Is such flavor: a tier of ghosts; and dream this life; and purge
This soul; for something speaks; and something cries.