Questing
I sail on a ship in a far sea
and my eyes are gold,
gold as the daughters of Hecate
who follow the Hounds of Bran.
I am searching for a little flower,
a little purple, reddened flower,
and a greening grave, mounded with stone and earth.
My boat is a cockleshell, golden and green,
and I sing as I sail
a new, sharp tune.
Silver flowers bloom out of my hair
I wear glass earrings, whistling in the wind.
I am on a quest for tomorrow’s yesterday
that one, sweet point
where liquid sun and amythestine moon
kiss in a nev
(This is - was - my last poem. It was the latest I wrote, right around the time I finished undergrad. It was also the last, as I never felt the urge again. Guess I wrote out everything I had. Incidentally, I have no recollection of writing this, at all. When I found it, I googled it to make sure it was mine! I'm pretty sure it is...)
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