The Maiden


 
As beauty fades in an autumnal flourish
      the maiden
trusts; draws strength from courageous stumbles;
seizes flesh and blood from poison;
lays a palm open, outward . . .

Every treasure of the unobserved, trickling moonlight
vested in peels of black; mirky
but never dangerous; a balm against
the coveting creatures, serrated
in their stalking;
      the maiden
wrote them into fortune’s mad orations.

. . . hushed. This belongs to her
all from a memory: we borrow joy and carelessly.
Tell me in some other form of tale
where the words are not vaulted away
–a wish;
      the maiden,
unnamed, breath porous with emotion
lets flutter away.
 
 

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