And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen - For what listen they?

sometimes at night, when i'm walking, i stare up at orion's belt - three gems in a row - and open my mouth - as if to drink down the starlight and the cold wet air and the smell of brush fires. and something inside me sings out to those stars. and i fully expect them to reply.

i used to think the big dipper was my favorite constellation, but that's because it was the only one i knew. draco was my favorite while i was on a dragon kick. but orion - we have a history. i've seen a shooting star fall from his hand. he has never left me, never faltered. there's something about his near-human symmetry that resonates with me. and he's a warrior. every princess deserves a warrior to fight for her. he's my ally - halfway, protective, watching over me when i'm most vulnerable - in the dark, in sleep.

Grief not, rather find, strength in what remains behind.

Rain falling through magnolia trees -
slow, hollow plips -
on the down-turned leaves.

From behind, I watch you -
you tuck a hand in your jacket
and sigh.
Your breath hangs heavy
in the wet, thick air -
for a moment,
your spirit has escaped
and I am afraid for you.

You are so frail,
your shadow gaunt on the curves
of pavement,
haloed in copper mist.

But in your footsteps
I hear the steel echoes
of assurance -
it is penned on your wrists
and tattooed on your heart.

Then I am you
again
and the weight of lambskin
and the damp cool of midnight
and the space between breaths
settle on my shoulders
again.