A SYLPH IS FELLED

The sylph isle booms; a black crone shrieks

Her eyes are blades that rip tree lords.

Green worms fire ice from Tira's coal plaits

a fairy maid wails; white rock chokes veins.

Frost greys the heart of Miza once fair

her crown bleeds gems and grinds to ash

tar stabs the gown elves wove by grace.

Two doves blast smog; their gold beaks part

mauve rays blind snow; all gelid bonds crack

a halo robes Miza; it scalds the witch.

THE SWAN MAIDEN

A high lord thuds past glade and wood

on his grey mare to greet the sage.

Its stately hoof strikes a mossy oak root

the jolt hurls Mera; his rent brow seeps.

Eyes dim in swoon; wings gift him life

he soars to realms where swan maids dwell.

Glass halls beam stars; the holy birds chant

harps wake old spells of trance and love.

As Zefa sews lace her kin bless oil

it seals raw flesh; joy buds with sun.

Gems trim her curls; he kneels to wed.

TO POESY, MY SPOUSE

I raise my quill to hail the muse

and beg for wings that glint with runes.

Walls bleed from pox; wind roars at panes

ice gnaws my bones; a pale wick gasps.

The yew desk groans; rays crown old stabs

as fauns chide gloom and puff on scrolls.

Verse pours rich oil; my dead lamp sighs

A kiss fires coal; oak scent burns mould.

TULIPS IN THE SKY

Grief racks pure love; I feel dark pangs

for my sweet prince who gilds the soil.

Pink buds drape skies with silk from God

and guide my soul to woods of grace.

A veiled choir prays; trees hush their tales

The rose lake chimes; I dance in light

A white shade calls; his gaze fires life

As red holes fade; my salve routs grey.