HEURODIS

a stabled palfrey

hearth-warmed hands

the crystal walls of my faerie captor


noon dreams


in a scented orchard

Orfeo, your gift


was more than my return


to a sunlit world
after a bound spell


in a jewel-lit kingdom


under the hill

ten years captive


the ladies of my captor's wife


took me hunting in the wood
where I saw you


starved, unkempt,


a beggar in exile
with only heather for a pillow

I dared not speak

yet I took from you the comfort
that the play of your fingers


in my auburn hair


was dearer to you than harping

touch takes us


from fitful prisons


to the real
but if the other


had forced himself upon me


would my palfrey
still rest within your stable?


would my elf-stained hand


still wear your ring?

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