lost is the heart that beats in a barnyard,
ancient the owl that turns to the sound,
straw spun to gold and deals at the last card,
lights bright then dimming, mouse on the ground.
caves are for wishing: silence and crystals,
walls drip and shimmer, dry wings unfurled,
magik alone and in pairs, the air whistles,
tendrils of long hidden hatreds in curls.
sisters in threes, missing- one's missing,
lost ages wasted, crossed swords and cries,
Owl turns her head from the mouse in death's kissing,
unable to watch as the life leaves its eyes.
