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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3863 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Broceliande in Winter Laurie Byro When it snows, when owls chant sad poems, rub their wings to make sparks, I could believe in anything— even you. Trees shudder under the weight of snow. Stop calling me vixen as if I belong to the forest. If you had fallen for your reflection instead of me, I could repeat myself. Truth isn’t a sunset, a pink lily frozen in ice, truth is a frog stuttering its song. Joy, I have known that. Magic, too. Merlin isn’t the only master of these tricks. It was foreshadowed trees would end in fire. Five stones joined arms, danced in a circle. You and I have wept into the cups of our hands, rocked back and forth howling at the tallest trees then climbed branch over branch to hear silver-snow drifting down. Now we know, never to trust moon wishes, falling cold stars. |
