Fae Magic is Fierce
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We fall as one
—crushing bluebells like bloodied lips
—wrapped in convolvulus
—grasping hibiscus shoots
—flying.
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Fae magic is cruel
—stealing gold, silver, tin
—stealing children unmanifest
—stealing our dreams.
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Fae magic is cold.
Leading us down stony trails
where skeletal trees lean in,
where bark peels paper thin,
where bristle moss clings to gnarled yew,
where woodlice skitter,
where night draws in ever sooner, sooner, sooner.
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And when I find you,
 broken-winged,
—heart racing soft as moonlight,
I will hold you,
like dew in April sunshine.
Hold you fierce.
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Our magic is deep.