Opeth

It was me, peering through the looking-glass.
Beyond the embrace of Christ.
Like the secret face within the tapestry.
Like a bird of prey over the crest.
And she was swathed in sorrow, as if born within its mask.
Her candlelight snuffed, the icon smiled.
Emptiness followed by her wake.
I could clasp her in undying love.
Within ghostlike rapture the final word was mine.
She faced me in awe. 'twas a token of ebony colour.
Embodied in faint vapour.