Hardly a husk I’ve wandereed,
A frail coccoon dormant among dust and labyrinth,
Only to stumble upon this place of majesty.

Half a witch, half a sandcastle,
I emerge triumphant,
One horned and radiant among serpents and houseplants.
A seven minute span of Grace at the end of a red footprint path.
A chime-laden city on the cliffs,
Where each stained glass eye looks down on aching bellies,
Urging only sparkbloom and love.

At rest with stark whitened ribs,
Recollecting four of five strangled years,
Growing ornamented vines.