Alchemisland

Trees either side of me

Like I’m moving sweetly, fleetly, like a carried leaf

Down the Anduin

If you are born to be King then the lakelady will hand you it

An anvil’s weight this unnamed crown leadlike with light-leaking jewels

Fine rooms and suites, sweet things

Lingering tastes, eyries; high peaks and tubular towers

Offering sweeping, seeking views of the fullness of my allowance

That rush of power

Though I wish God had been a little more houseproud

I tear a strip from my shirt

Enough for a mouse Messiah’s shroud

And begin my ritual with a call out across the chequerboard floor

And something low set and hideous crawls out.