[as yet untitled]

Janus in a collar
sees the leash and the season,
the hand and the door--
an aspect for all but
the present.

His doors swing,
never closed, never opened.

* * *

Two tongues.
Two minds.
Two visions.
Six versions of "truth"
from faithless doors
wound down hallways
lined in leaves
pressed in wine
stepless feet without
echoes--emphasis
from the empty windows.

The loaded god, lockless,
pacing, passes with a flash
of divine dumbness,
foreheads like smooth stones,
thurible thoughts
creasing the two brows.

* * *

Twin hungers, change and movement,
the masters of Janus,
leathery lips pressed
to his neck,
guide the collared divinity.

From peak to grass patch
he moves
eyes devouring mirrors,
moving the seasons,
senseless to the ritual.

---
03.10.06
MWL