runic yew
*I kiss the shimmer beyond reason,
Chasing it through burns, blisters, fleeting seasons.
I'll drink the sky as if it were azure wine,
For I would have savored forever, its dulcet design.
Some call it madness, some, pompous pride—
This unending hunger, sculpting my stomach in light;
A wolf scurrying, howling in my rib-caged halls.
Me? I call it a promise.
A promise, carving my name into mist-veiled hollows,
A promise, sketching my breath on heaven's cold glass,
A promise, bowing to ambition's fire, scarring me holy,
A promise, pressing my palms against syrup-sewn air.
I am the helm. I know the course I must chart.
Beneath the sun or moon , I refuse to stop trying.
I dwell where no one dares to go,
Where mystery reigns, where excitement grows.
For to dream big is to wake feeling small,
To reach for a hand, and find nothing at all.
To cradle each loss as if it were a child,
To wade through doubt’s rivers—still, to smile.
And if the constellations stay just beyond grasp,
I’ll sail until my shadow learns their names.
For wonder is not what I seek—
It is the wind in my sails.*
gentle wadi
hexed anvil
jovial pawn
coral geyser
lunar wasp
shy thorn
silk drift
noble charm
fathom tiger