Alice, today, through
looking glass, darkly.
Vision of you, there,
back of branches, lightly.
Running toward that,
swiftly moving away.
Forest closes in,
or maybe expands.
Yearning leaves streaks
on veins of old kisses.
Bowed and turned,
soul whispers reflection.
Feel a light embrace
from behind the mirror.
©2011 Joanne Sprott