12

Her poems were written on glass, were glass.
She hung them in windows and waited for the light
to catch their bevelled edges, to catch faces looking in
but the sun was too pale and people walked by.

He was drawn to her poems, she thought,
an apprentice to her thoughts.
He looked through her and felt the edges of her words -
transparent, almost without a shadow.
His fingers rehearsed every curve
before he set about his work.

Faces turned as the sun shone orange
on the gold of her poems.
He smiled back and took the poet's hand.

<<<

15

she lived on a glass mountain
               in once upon a time

all the princes came
               and broke their fingernails
and dented their armour
               mostly they rode away sulking

she didn't care
she was quite happy
               playing in the orange groves with her basilisks

the fairy's wicked spell
               broke eventually
she had to learn how to order the servants around
               and all about menus
and the basilisks bit the postman
               so she had to give them away

and everyone said
               how lucky it was that the farmer's third son
put glue on his boots
               like the wise fairy told him

she thought it was all a bit of a cheat
               it was the same fairy all the time
in the end she got bored with banquets

she glued her boots
               and climbed back up there
carrying her basilisks
               in a special basket

it was spring
               and the oranges were blossoming