Shall we begin with a Once-
Upon-A-Time-ness? With a metaphor?
A rose in bloom? A sunrise, ripening
shedding warmth along the path to her door?
What colour, that door?
Shall it be crimson? Or soft magenta blush, or
her imagined truth; that scarred, blackened fissure
in sunken, ugly frame, mottled and mouldy
hunkering and hideous, insect infested
Opening though, that door, at the behest of intangible
fingers, and her; lost and translucent with
hummingbird heartbeat thrumming a cats purr
Shall we follow her as she runs and runs? Till
the sun’s too tired and turns his back?
Long ago she’d lost herself amid bracken
lain in a nest of fallen boughs, fled forward
through times dark, light, dark, light
See how the moss, extravagantly green (enough to
make you dream of God and cry) crept over
her whitening bones in waves. She, crumbled there
beneath the beauty, her dust, molecules of forgiving
See how the wind takes up her cause
blowing her free of chaff
So, let us begin with the Once-
Upon-A-Time-ness of a tale
a ghostly impermanence, an elfin soul running
backward-backward, each breath stealing a year
Let us watch till she is nothing but sound
that hummingbird heartbeat thrumming
thrumming, till the space she leaves becomes her