Alchemisland

The culprit swanning across his yard

Hurriedly, as if pursued, studied and furtive and rapid

His feet were light like the sun unseated walked these sordid streets

And like a rat’s made only a light tapping, as if assuring a woken sleeper

Nothing is happening

I spied him who sent me white, that I so despised, and stared him hard

I should have laid him low, were gazes blows

His shoulders swerved with such force that his gay, flowing curls moved as if gale-blown

At all times he seemed to be proceeding at his topmost speed, fleet with full sail flown

I saw him and all that cooling hate my frame had stowed like a ship does tack

Came out and I ran at him aiming to tackle him, reckless without tactics

And me so known for tacks, never hastening to brass tacks, would attack him like that

I rouse from the notion

Conceiving merely grieves me dearly and fearsome, taxing him not at all

He was not grey and grave but bright like flame and tall

Hair flaxen, surely descending from

Anglo Saxons, and whatever strong genes those ancient reavers leant him

He put to work, so that his colours were well blent, that he never blent into any crowd

But stood apart loud as a snow-breasted crow,

Or a gold-crowned flower in a world of drowned stone.