WILLOW MEAD

Willow Mead

This partly broken, silver-hearted lass cast her dreams in a plaster bath -

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Like frozen roses in repose, with alabaster silky thighs. She laughs, and lies,

‘The Whole howls, blinding, the yeast is sudden, and has no fire nor wind’,

She beckons, ‘The light is shining - there are no others - you’ll see’

This wild fairy - she's a beauty - but a child, an idle creature,

She reckons, ‘I’m broken, aye, in the middle’, cracked white ice under The Full Moon,

‘This house once did matter, but it has sunk into the night and sea -

I have no cross to bear’. Black, black ice under a new moon.

The Jester, 08/07/09