her town, her sleeping ice
Anima, animae f.
2001, revised 2023

walls
thick
as night,
gates heavy
as four seasons
turning, water winding
through stone to the
heart of the square,
all under her hand,
and hers only,
her suitors are words
answered in a midnight
mirror onto paper,
cathedrals rise
and sink
where she prays
alone as if ordained,
the stained glass rose
of dusk slips over her
shoulders in kneeling as
she gathers her hair
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