When we who dream in subtle greens,
awaken to the black of things—
a smile upon a faceted mask,
cries within the simple breast.
Victor, victims phantom limb,
visage veil a dying djinn—
or eye imposter to simmering soul,
manifold mind mathematical.
Then time will dwell where morning dies,
and laughter cry the southern sky,
curtain know that window lied,
and adder in an attic hide.
For envy's green will not be shriven,
of addicts angst, a gift ungiven.