The Glass Spire

-Star
the old men - cradle their
rifles - and stare into the
night
they murmur - the witch
the witch
- send the green
ones - to watch the dark
‘fore every night
this - her price
for our trespass -
in these trees
should you - hear
the crunch of
twigs
run - to camp
run to - camp
for - the witch has your scent.

and if you hear -
a woman’s hum
-breathe not

-smile
She upon the - mountain
pass - skin as
moonlit snow - spoke -
as if the wind - howl’d not
and carved not - heat
from bone

My name - she wanted - yet I
said not for - my
tongue had still’d
and the
ice -
chill’d my
soul.

-Wax
‘ere in these
rusted halls where
tarnished mirrors offer
figures and smudges
slimy air clings
close to skin in
— the camber beyond where
voices echo from peeling
plaster
all clinging to some
bygone memory
of a world before or a world behind
and veins are only
skin deep

-Knowing
cut us — mooring free
and pass us to the waves
where the blue above
bleeds below
and we — alone
where salt stings
our eyes
oh — we know the way
we know —
but we here
are free
— to cut the wheel

-what’s old again
this - here - beneath the ringing-bell
and tree heavy - with the new-year
wish
for again shall the beginning
and endings moor beneath a
moonless sky
fill this with color - and crash
‘till we smell sulfur
and taste the buzz -
on another’s lips

The tiny bundles of fur wiggled and murred as they pawed against the the side of the box. Yume ran her knuckle along the back of a small gray kitten. A soft, fluffy little thing looked up at Yume, light blue eyes half hooded bringing a faint smile to the corners of her lips. The kitten’s whiskers tickled the back of her finger as it sniffed her.
“We’re are they from?” Yume asked.
“A stray cat had them in our backyard then abandoned them.” Ruki said. Yume pushed a pair of textbooks out of the way as Ruki set the box down.
“Poor little things.” Yume said, leaning over to look down into the box.
“My mom is looking for homes for them,” Ruki said, “but,”
“But?” Yume asked.
“She was hopeful you and Hikari could watch them.” Ruki said. A faint frown formed on the edges of her lips as she again. She scratched behind the ear of a kitten with her fingernail.
“We should be able to house them for a few days, but don’t you have more room at your place?” Yume asked.
“Allergies.”
“Ah.” The faint smile returned. “They are quite cute.”

“It was a promise, after all.”
The moon hung low in the sky, it’s reddish glow illuminating the valley below. Camelia ran her comb through Aurora’s hair as the girl rested on Camelia’s thigh, eyes exploring the stars above. Was it right to — to — simply let this be? Aurora’s arm raised, a delicate finger tracing the points between the stars, finding the spider trapped in her own web. Or, perhaps the ladle from which all things spilled. A gentle smile as her head turned and her gaze fell to Camelia.
“Then, we should do this again.” She said. Camelia could feel a catch in her breath, a twist in her chest.
“Yes, that would be,” a pull of air, “nice.”
“Then, why not another promise?” Aurora asked. “When it’s all over, we meet back on this hill.”
Camelia’s amber eyes flickered in the low light. Two tangled strands of hair caught in the teeth of the comb. The ritual. The Nightwatch. Had she ever even spared a thought to still being alive when the sun finally rose? The strands of hair separated at the insistence of the comb. Aurora’s hand caught her wrist, golden eyes caught the moon’s low light. Camelia released her breath.
“The story of the oxe and the snake then, they will be at their apex tomorrow.” She said. Aurora smiled, a sudden flash of teeth.
“A promise?”
“I —“ Was it wrong to answer what she wished for? “yes, it will be a promise.”
“Good.” Aurora’s gaze flicked back to the sky. “Once a promise is made—“
“—it cannot be broken.” Camelia finished. She too looked to the sky.
Was she a fool to promise impossible things?
Down below the teeth of the comb found another knot, and above the spider remained trapped within her web.