it was in the darkness that i found her
there by the dry fountain
its basin gathered the paper thin years
like withered leaves
like soul searching written with her lips
like a castle keep penned with the inks of my regrets

the dry fountain flowed once upon a time with a rich river of
all manner of worldly beasts
the fabled ones and the forgotten ones
and their tales like tapestry's woven with heart strings

now the dry fountain was her home
she bid me take my leasuire for a moment from my fleeing
so my bone thin horse could rest his weary heart
i offered her coins in gratitude for her shelter
with a gentle hand she turned such aside
and instead took my hand
and withdrew the pen embedded in my skin

and said to me that
'each dawn requires a darkness with which to begin'
she began with fragments of me
i tried in vain to be the candle that holds back the shadows
but in truth she is venus finding gentle sweet sainthood in her repertoire
like a frail swan of the ethereal grace

she wanted only to see the glory days to return to this place
to see the fountain flow once again
see its thriving life and its deep magics of the heart
we spent that winter camped there gathering each paper thin tomb
and placing them at the alter of the written word
but to no avail
the days had fallen to cold stone
and not even the brilliant light she shed soulshine and heart
could revive the dry fountain

the last i saw her she had glanced back from her road leading away
with a kind woman's smile she gives to friends
she once said i was too reckless with my heart
now i knew what she meant