the streets, still wet

ice and fire

winter and exhaust;

travelling tires


rope burns and hostages;

pale against fires


past ghosts

and rising sails

to scrambled notes


jail cell floors

and rosemary coasts


simple men; folklore

rain and closed doors


worldly hours;

time and how it'd tower

over shores

early wings soar

over sunlit moor

two birds and one stone,

no more.