Summer Fair
April 4, 2016
On July 1st, I wore my first festival dress.
In snowy lace folded between shards of rose and ice,
like spring breaking free from winter.
My gloves, newly-riven snow or perhaps dove’s wings,
gilded with silver morning
dewy in youth and recklessness,
soon to be torn or ruined.
My shoes, black hooves, like a kid jumping on rocks
a green stream underneath.
My cloak, a cold phoenix, burning with ice,
aflame with the chill of expectant love.
Inlaid, gold lining, a tracery of heaven,
flitting like pollen or moth’s feet,
the handiwork of too much time.
I am a lily, new with moss,
queening her silver, gold and opal,
aflame and ashen, ancient and new
O whom do we owe,
a theme timeless as beauty itself.
Love poem (Untitled)
July 31, 2014
How mortal eyes behold dawn-light
the manner he beholds me.
Be I fragile as a torn feather,
a snowflake whose crystals have touched warmth.
Mind the river swelling its flood-banks,
giving bounty so green.
….A river perpetually flowing.
Mind the fox pup playing
laving paw-prints so deep in spring mud
where bushes bloom.
…Happiness ever yours.