Wait for her … Nyx feigning shadow reveal

she may step out as he, they, or some

animus unexpected, tenderized on succulent mirage

resplendently decked in sienna velvet and brogue

shockingly limber in otherwise sluggish world

répandre; changeling shapeshifter lines

in Mandarin, French or Wisconsin fromage

her and his and theirs; these fluid limbs

sunning beneath New Mexico Magick

weaving something dangerously superlactive

come on, come on, catch up, knock knock (whose there?)

the fleet footed mind of quixotic, radiating penmanship

skating fast on dressed lake in ox-blood hose

waiting for the thaw

in godless spaces inhabiting high fantasy and magical realism

with hefty dose of monster romance and Underworld tea

ears filled with silver and spells

mouth open to breathe the key

Houdini discovered a riddle 20 feet deep

where flounder can phoenix and bird from fire redeem

unlocking a fine mind no man can smother nor egnite

her own brand of flame holding pyre to rebirth

throw your glass high, even if it hurts your arm

a toast to the nymph of knit and stitch

of universes, absynthe and deep water alchemists

let’s drink 10 Bloody Mary’s

when the painted wagon comes to town

announcing; es mots écrits au masculin comprennent le féminin et le genre neutre et vice versa

with the alacrity of spirit acrobat

and we dance a jig in filthy joy

tipping our heads to sun and moon

both sides of the same, always just a little out of reach

roaring at jokes nobody gets

tearing our feet to the internal rhyme on wax

here the salt of life grew heavy

nearly felled her every cast

yet, yet, making it through with torn nails

the bright light in her eyes is a sound

and that sound is free

a sort of rushing, wild relief

tasting of blackcurrant and burdock

sup from the radiant source itself

good Gods and fae won at last

such is the creamy dance of wonder

bending its neck like a bee tasting pollen.

For Sun.