The Sage

by Anna Lovering
(United States)

A letter composed for
home which stole
out as a thief whisper

to pick upon Jack
Frost's night writing
on a windowpane as a

snowflake etched in time
with silver highlights.
To stop Tom Thumb from

eating the last of the
scrutiny pie. Only seen
and viewed from a jester

of night stopped in as a
courtier of lights straddled to
a carriage haloed in light.

Where Laurel, a wreath
that laid atop her mind not
to bend time but to

bring solace to sleep.
That mares, strong and sturdy
pulled the fog

apart as curtains
drawn too
tight.