There is longing even
in the deepest cornflower,
where fishes swim
among anemones and coral.
Castles rise with pearly spires,
the sea flows in shades
of rainblue. The Sun is distant,
a watery purple flower.
There is longing even so
because no birds sing
to morning, no wheels turn,
What do stars mean
in a murky world,
what does sky?
What is acquiescence
when somewhere else
grass tickles your legs,
and you, Sun-warmed,
dream shapes in clouds?
Walking on legs, on moving feet!
Walking among the scent of day,
earth and growing, rain and smoke.
Walking somewhere new,
every step away from familiarity
bleeding with regret and delight,
walking in a twilight of pain and freedom,
but moving forward, voiceless words
spoken only in the heart.
I journeyed to another world
to save a dying prince. I felt
air stir my hair, saw stars unrippled,
set against black. The wide stillness
of sky gave me breath. I could not
swallow, but I saw rooms bright
with candlelight, felt warmed by fire.
Every step hurt. I did not know
my direction, everything apparent
shifted. I was spun to land
from an uncharted latitude,
flung to oxygen. I could not speak,
held everything behind my bones,
felt the cut of polarity, of distance.
My prince loves me.
He holds me. He puts
his trust in my hands. He shows
me his weeping heart. I try
to protect it. Unspeaking.
I try to protect my own.
I can not stay. I can not
stay for love or land
beneath feet barely tried.
To live without a voice
is not to live. The pale cast
of memory strains the air
in this undiscovered country.
I am undiscovered, awash
in currents of human babel,
turned awry, being and unbeing,
scattered as the foam,
now gathered on sand,
now carried on waves.