Poetry With Hart

I make my way slow
to the last elm tree, barren
on the cliffside coast.

Treasuring the view
waves crash, jolt sound, electric
underneath my skin.

Committing endless
horizons to memory
sapphire dreamlight,

pelican porpoise,
pink shells shattered to powder
failure grasps meaning.

Keeper’s last advice
a din in my ears, “Beware
of the ice prince!

Go to the Fae court
knowing, while you may yet live,
you will never belong.”

A flame pixie danced
in the lantern he gave me,
a friend for the road

ahead, words comfort
echo warmth, fire alone
can’t truly explain.

Clutching light I climbed
the last tree, communing there
as if at world’s end.

A moss mosaic
greeted my sight, my touch blunt
on decayed fibers.

It is then I emerged
a new formed seed branching in
the Fae Court gardens.