ZoeBee

Ash sprays your lungs, light starts to gray
For the first time in your privileged life
You 
Are 
Not Okay
Leave your father, trip his nurse
Grab your kids (after the purse)
Sprint and sprint, run with the slew

My bog-boy lives out in the moors
I slip down to visit him at night
Velvet skies and crystal pricks of light covering my back
Papa would whip me with willow boughs if he saw
Mother would drag me back home

The best writing caresses me at midnight
Leaves fingerprints between the curve of my shoulder blades 
Trails cool kisses down my neck
The best writing waltzes me under the stars
And pulls me close as they begin to sing us sonatas

The faerie flitted down from the rafters
To perch on a girl's gold gingham gown
It plucked up a handful of wildflowers
And with deft fingers wove a chicory crown

"I pronounce you queen of the faerie

Sunlight, Robert thought, is a glorious thing. Sunlight signified new days and new chances which he desperatley needed. The past few months had been a mess of dark days and even darker nights, for in an Alaskan winter, one seems to never awaken.