Thursday, December 14

hymn to atia

my Atia, i had grown cold
before this eight, i slept--
i should have known this was your hour,
and waking this, i wept-

the slope of hill my vantage-point,
the wind, a land my own--
the sapphires of your sparkle-eyes,
the eveningspread my gown--

before you brought my feathers out
safe in winds above
never beauty i had known
and not the half of love.

they posted poles to keep us off,
but neither of us did,
among the bugs, feet in the grass
spoon on thy trashcan lid.

some storm rolled in with cloudy waves
as heavy as a sea,
but without wings, my queen, you'd never dare
cling half so tight to me:

instead, oh girl with webs like veils
you had to skitter free.

and skitter free we both may do!
and make of this no bound,
around my neck a silver string,
within my soul, a sound-
one only heard when stormy winds
blow shivers at the ground.

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