a journal of fantastical poetry

The Fairy Ring Dance: A Perpetual Canon

by Andy K. Tytler

The Pole Star Arrived Alone and Left Alone

Bells stitched together the hours of the day. Glass painted us in sunset light. We waited for nightfall, when the starlight fairies conduct the moth orchestra in the midnight pollination dance. The notes of their violin wings coursed through our veins like blood, and we laughed at the silver pearl glow rising through the forest. A promise whispered to us, its mirror in the twirl of clouds in the black ink sky. A present, but before we could suspect its magic, could reach the crystal pool where we, too, might rebel, repeat the steps of the darkest dance, the sparrow stirred its feathers, and we heard dawn speak.

At The Crystal Dance

The ink of sunset coursed through the suspect clouds. Nightfall: a promise in its conduct of feathers and moth wings. We alone heard the rebel forest dance. When the violin whispered its magic to us, the blood stirred in our veins. The orchestra of bells painted its silver notes through the darkest pool of midnight black, the sky like starlight pollination. But before we could present the steps we stitched together in the light hours, we waited for the fairies. In the glass twirl, their rising glow, we, too, could mirror the day and speak where pearl dawn might reach. The pole star laughed and left us. Alone, a sparrow arrived. Repeat.

We Laughed Before We Could Speak

A rebel sparrow stirred the sunset pool through the clouds. Moth glow whispered: fairies twirl in the forest. Nightfall, too, arrived in its darkest pollination of the hours. We waited at the silver starlight where the crystal magic coursed, alone. The violin painted its promise to mirror in black notes, rising like wings, a present of feathers and blood. The steps for the dance stitched its suspect conduct in us, and we alone might pole the star orchestra through the ink of the midnight sky. When the bells of glass left our veins, the pearl light heard us reach the day.

And dawn. But we could repeat their dance together.

Us, But a Mirror

The sunset hours painted the clouds in light-- and blood. The sparrow whispered in its feathers. We alone stirred at nightfall and waited for the twirl of starlight promise through the sky. The might of midnight rising: when the darkest fairies glow, where (we suspect) the violin left its ink in our veins. A pollination of rebel wings coursed through the pole star pool. Their notes, too, we heard: could speak, repeat, and dance. The moth laughed silver, like us could conduct the crystal orchestra in the magic steps we dance. We arrived together, before the black bells of the forest.

Dawn stitched its pearl glass present to reach the day. Alone.

Conduct in the Black Moth Orchestra

Darkest blood sunset coursed in our veins, and we could speak magic. (Suspect the clouds alone heard us.) Nightfall stitched its starlight in the sky, ink feathers rising. Midnight: pole of the day, when the hours promise to twirl through their steps together, and repeat the dance we like. Before we arrived where the fairies rebel, the mirror in the pool whispered, but the crystal waited. The violin laughed at us, its notes a pollination of star glow. Through the forest, the silver sparrow wings stirred, for we alone could reach the might of its glass light. Dawn painted a present of pearl bells, and we, too, left the dance.

June 1st, 2019

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