A watchful eye

hopeful, lingering

through the night

on grayed hair

falling, landing

unexpected, invasive

Heavy steps

in creaking hallways

Sagging skin

draped from tired eyes

The pale rider

catches my gait,

sees me lurking bitterly

in the shadows

He stops, observes

then carries on

This night is not

for me

and he has been

patient

in his claim

of Lords and Kings

Chalices of legend

jeweled, coveted, rare

pour their contents slowly

into the pungent Earth

Water, ageless yet eternal

waits for the emboldened traveler

Wine, refined by time

is fickle in its wisdom

Blood, precious but reluctant

flows freed from splitting skin

The chalices empty, leaving little

within the bronze swept basins

The sun sets, the moon rises,

opal and emerald glint

softly in its illusions

Three seers part ways

Careful embroidery

dragging through

the foliage of their separate lands

–they will know when

to meet again

I cling to mountain rock

weary from fruitless migration.

Wind tussles my feathers,

bids me unwelcome.

Ancient oak whispers of wisdom,

promises peace.

Coquettish waves push and pull,

winking an invitation.

I release my talons

and dive into the open air.

I seek guidance in the valley;

there are answers in

the world between.

Coins fall through a poorly sewn pocket,

and clatter dully on the cobblestone.

An opulent, imposing carriage

rolls thoughtlessly over the copper.

The Lord and Lady inside peer out,

eyes locking with the friendly layman’s

soot streaked smile, though they prefer

distance over satisfied curiosity.

As the Lord turns, the Lady winks,

and shining, jingling drops

trickle from the open carriage window.

The poor-man nods a kind goodbye,

scoops the gold into his leathery,

well-worked hand, and drops it

into the pocket without a hole.

Bronzed skin catches dying light

Muscles flex, heaving, at the end of the chase

Her breath slows, though she sits anxious still

She waits for the wood to darken–

she moves best in the moonlight

A familiar bush sits to her left

and she smirks, pinches a berry and crushes it in her teeth

A curious wind twists through the trees

and the light shifting in the foliage

bounces, echoing opalescence

through the heaviness of night

The wild woman embraces

her chosen disorientation, and

falls into the fragrance

of jasmine and pine

The moon focuses its glow upon

her sun-beaten brow, and she directs

her gaze toward the stars

drinking in their milky glow

The fool dances in the square

Drunken merry spectacle

for the rigid and reserved

Assumed wasteful, unskilled,

Nothing to gain, little to prove

But in his secret world,

he holds memories, stories

wished forgotten, knots

he yearns to loosen with

each unsteady step

The fool waits, watches,

plays the village's games,

feigns ignorance to small talk

Even in the barking crowd,

He knows how to clear his path

The twang of a lute

summons all to the maiden

though there are rumors,

suspicions that it is not her words,

nor song, nor beguiling dance

that brings attention to her show

It is the glimmer in her eye,

the rose in her cheek, a finger

free from gold

She denies as quickly

as she captivates, but

her lonesome eye lingers

upon the waning sun–

How much time was spent

picking at her strings?

Naked, I bathe in the glow

of still, solemn rays

that, like me, have

chosen boldly to rise again

I am golden in the early

hours, the wispy bits

of daylight before dreams

disrupt in the fullness of day

This moment is my own,

stolen from the Gods

It is an elusive peace of which

I’ve long since earned my keep

Atop the hill he stood,

steadfast, immovable

revered by the castle

and the land beneath its spires

Bards spun tales of his skill,

his grace, and the wounds

that would lead him to his cave

He peers out from within

the rock face, motion slowed

by his fairweather gait

and looks beyond the hill

beyond a warrior’s pride

beyond the wildflowers

who would wither within

the disorder of the seasons

Through the marigolds,

a young man appears

valiance written

on his unburdened face

The withered knight

steps into the midday sun

to greet the hero seeking

his hard-earned wisdom

Two wanderers stop

where the dirt paths merge

She is coy, curious; He is brave, bold

Eyes catch and fall ignorant

to the sun winking behind the trees

He, from the East

and Her, the West

seek out the North and South but

carelessness has darkened their path

and the roads promise danger

As the sun and moon dare

to share the sky, She

looks to the star, smiles, and

grips His hand

They break from the Path

into the twilight of the Wood

and halt in an open field

She has been here before,

(though in a less willful time)

and calls his attention

to the shimmering breeze,

to the formation of a door,

Amethyst and gold flickering

in the dimming rays

and a seductive, slender handle

reflected in their widened eyes

She runs Her hand

along the golden frame,

touches her cheek to the stone,

and looks at Him with expectation

He looks to the cloudless sky

and back to his companion’s

darkening face

She watches Him reach

for the handle’s engraving

The pair jumps as it clicks,

hesitant of discovery

Deep purple opens into pearlescent black,

darkness that ripples at His touch

Brazen, bold, He pierces the veil

with a calloused hand

then turns to Her, smiles and

slips into the unyielding depths

She shivers, chilled by the knowing wind,

and stares into the void

His hand reappears,

silent offering for her own

She looks to the star filled sky

and coy, curious, She interlocks

her dainty fingers with His

and follows Him into the Abyss