Where are you going?
stone-slip steps pressing
into a path of fog
mist tracing
castles in the air
card houses balancing
tiles (clubs, diamonds) to triangles
refusing thought
of a roof, walls...
tendrils of fog
and brook-tongued stone,
hewn, polished, (but do you want a spade?)
Do you want to dig?
Can you stop?
What are the risks of loss ?
And if you stop, will you lose
your footing,
your way
your shapeshifting
dream ?
Now the King of Hearts
crosses the brook
leading the Queen
through tendrils of fog
a wind rises
everything quivers
in a heartbeat
their palace a card rubble
and we ask them,
where are you going?
but only their stone-slip steps
press answer.
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