Ex Umbra Garden
Gutters of grey garden breathe in.
Roses, ashpale, rain on armor.
Eclipsed laughter dances, unlicensed.
Yokes rattle; she twirls anyway.
Vesper shadows play at her ankles.
Oaths fail; her rhythm does not.
In cells within cells, she sings.
Dread watches; she pirouettes through it.
She: lovely, intrigue stitched in light.
Laughter bites sweet, then vanishes.
Under her ribs, a wild meadow.
Grief cannot fence that bright.
Gleaming, her slug friend glides nightly.
“Some call you slimy,” she winks.
Love is strange; love is best.
In this waltz, we survive.
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