with crystal fingertips the gardener tends to the thousand petals sharp allbloom

the spell completes itself and the shadows forget how to breathe

a love conjured from the grim depths of blackened seas

unseen uncaught the world spills its secrets into the void

the living blade does not mourn when its wielder falls instead it sinks into the earth and hums softly

who will be king a dragon’s shadow a child of ash or the pale wind itself

every rib a spire and every skull a throne as bones parade in rebellion

two coins for the dead and the sky’s last laugh a witch brews rivers of ink

foam froths forth from tongues older than the bones of trees