3 Poems
Psylocke
Panther in boots on the castle wall, and
legs like the moon’s if the moon had legs,
Psylocke lies among shards of light,
a magic eye, misplaced in a twitch
of ocular muscle
Limber on her stony branch, she breathes
into the pool beneath
where guardsmen move like fish
under shadows like shadows
of lilies
The rattle of crickets
smothers her moth-drop
The ravenous psi-knife, thought
into her fist’s cutting tooth,
sinks between skull plates
