P.S. I’m Wading at the Pond

P.S. I’m Wading at the Pond

I’ve tried to take the ore
of molten words
and turn them into golden threads
preparing to present them to an ancient king
who occupies the darker spaces
–    not of soul, but mind –
and so
demands such clarity
for illumination.  But I
not yet his focused alchemist
have tired of such tithing
– a lifetime at the cauldron –
so search for me he may
but he shall not find me there again
in labor for his fire.
He would know where to find me
– would know well my forest –
had he but lingered with me
for a lifetime at the cauldron.


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