The Glass, the Flame, and the Circle

 Shrouded in the many folds of loss there is a mirror.
 Bloodied but unguarded, through pain are we drawn nearer.
 Overlapping reflections line the way in many tricks,
 Delicious falsehoods tease with structure, in prophecy transfix.

 Through the mire of our foggy memories is a light.
 Wavering but ever burning, this candle in the night.
 Don't spare a glance for dancing moon bugs, hiding in the reed -
 You dreamed them up just yesteryear, sleep troubled where they lead.

 Past the final syllable winter still sits in waiting,
 Horrible and endless, the cycle unabating.
 Close your eyes and seasonless, rest these tired wings.
 The movement can be heaven - if surrender sings.