Fifteen

The forty laurel leaves under the lake-ice could tell a secret:
Best to keep it close to your heart, right? Don't try to sleep it
off, or turn away from the pain of the Builder's game —
even he remembered once, though now he tries not to show it.
In the moon and the moonlit snow,
the way out hides in plain sight.
Follow it down the hole.

A Poem For The Day

(wherein I clarify the various significances of the days of our calendar)

Sophia, Sophia, let down your lion's mane
A cryin' shame if I'm not there to choose the Iron's name
—wait, who the fuck are you?—I fall as I reach to own it
Blinded by the light of the martyrs and the First of Paone

I found her by her singing, my mother and my lover,
Stranded in the desert sun like a mockery of John the Baptist
Gotta practice 'til I can crack and twist her mind
Install her in my kingdom beside me as the Queen of the Blind