The fourth horizon

From far off of this crowded cauldron
Sits a window.
Under the middle moon
Like an obscure seeker.
Looks a cryptic metaphor like
All squares dissolve and murmur.

From far off of this crowded cauldron
Sits a window.
And in this esoteric window sits
A double sided mirror new.
Looking out the fourth horizon.
The bird called Déjà vu.

From far off of this crowded cauldron
Sits a window.
Slowly unfolding her true name.
And a spellbound I is witness.
An intermittent occurrence by chance
The eternal enigma turning weightless.

From far off of this crowded cauldron
Sits a window.
Revealing her nostalgic wings
Inside a shape-shifting door.
As if the gatekeeper in distant
Will sing without no before.

From far off of this crowded cauldron
Sits a window.
A nonchalant seeker on knees
An everlasting breath in a dew.
An angel rings the surreal bell and
The bird called Déjà vu.