She paints their eyes black
She knows the nocturnal archetypes
The ones who guard the lost children
The ones who move free of the waking and the dreaming
She caught them in the barn owl eyes’ empty reflection
They might mirror the moon or the stars,
But you’ll never see your own face there
Can you look into those abyssal pools
And see that you’re not there?
She doesn’t paint you,
But she sees them watch you
These nighttime visitors see you,
Bare without form
They guard you from yourself
Until you’re ready to witness
Your own annihilation
Under the black depths of your unconscious
And perhaps she will paint that
