A girl. A grape vine. Wreathe and wrest from wood
the barest, whitest; something fragile, and
memories treasured of sun and moon then,
a galaxy we thought was all
has grown beyond the roots of man
and lifted songs behind the veil
where the music disguised itself to avoid detection
and everyone danced to keep up the charade
while a King only smiled, a mystery to all
and the joker was found with the Queen in the hall.
They were drinking and dancing their dreams
by the moon’s blue light
near impossible to discern:
a shiver, then a blush.
A girl. A grape vine. Wreathe and wrest from wood
the barest, whitest; something fragile, and
on tip toes, barefoot over ragged edges
seen unseen diviners reach above, yet
our bones, bleached, cracked, reveal
traces of some ruder past, and sanctity.
(by Celaine Charles, Priscilla Long, Kevin O’Conner, Lola Peters, Leopoldo Seguel, Omar Willey, and Koon Woon)
