princess.

she was a princess
and my wicked words, my
dream castles built with
glittering eyes and awed whispers
my little worlds laced with
traceries of sound and breath

once upon a time there was

left beautiful lights in her heart, she
told me--the heavens i weaved for
her, wreathing the ceiling and walls
in radiant fantasies so that they
didn't close her in anymore

a little girl

she told me that i was a dreamer
and that she loved me for that:
she told me her dreams were like
rain on window glass:
falling, winding, strange and aimless
casting faint shadows across her mind
collecting in translucent pools just
at the edge of perception

who loved fairy tales

she told me my dreams were beautiful
and that she hoped one day
she might tell me a story--she
wanted to know what a good story
tasted like when you told it (even
the ones with the sad endings--
especially the ones with the sad endings)

but no one ever told her

she died, one day--and the room
was cold; this warm and gentle soul
had finally died out;
i remember the way the faint shadows
of raindrops on the window
wandered aimlessly down her cheek.

that some fairy tales

she never knew how jealous i was--
how i wanted to know what it was like
to dream peacefully. to have a heart
full of beautiful lights. to say something
and mean it.

don't have happy endings.

all the stories i'd tell her
and she never knew how hard i
was trying to break her brilliant
dreaming
heart