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.
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