There were years they disappeared into the loamy caverns of rooms, their beds piled with comforters & unfolded clothes, gum wrappers in the depths of backpacks, hair bouquets in hairbrushes, earrings with missing pairs. Sometimes light was a lure, other times an intrusion. They went in, angular & bristly; mercurial, most spectacular when ill- at-ease. When they emerged, their legs were smooth from foam & shavers; their jaws, set in a line sleek as the edges of smart- phones. You couldn't pluck a lyre to bribe them from the depths, but you waited for that time in the future when they'd look at the night sky & finally recognize how Cassiopeia was both right side up & upside down; when one day, they might see you wandering the frozen fields—alone & still in search of ransom.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.