ornate key to souls lockbox
kept by the old man
who sweeps the scattered leaves and mends the bent stones
his leather skin makes a sandpaper sound
and is tattooed with sea charts and mythical creatures
he is wearing the ornate key on golden chain
as he gropes his way down to the
courtyard where she is watching the stars

she devours his footsteps with her mind
and the trail of dust he disturbed salts the meal
she drinks of his liquid thoughts
their hot wet deep waters
as he works head held low
on the marble steps with wrought iron
sweeping up the dusty words
left by the shuffling of a thousand year students
who studied the discomforts and glories of the pen

as the soft sounds of her labor echo
she crafts rowboats of pewter to sail upon the metal sea
she builds metal men from a tin foiled
armed with swords to reap the harvest
she devises monks out of steel
their eyes an assembly of gears
fill the world with the small metal sound
of her blue eye looking out upon wicked world

as dawn stretches an aching red upon the sky
she lay in the old mans arms
watching her armada sailing the metal sea
watching her army of tin foiled men
their metal gear eyes forever looking to the stars
their dull grey skin echo dawns light
like regret

they have always been here
her and the old man
by the shore of a metal sea
in a tower of stone
building dreamlands from the chaff of seeds
that drifts down like grey snow
from the world high above
life from the ashes
someday that life will stand in summer sunlight
dance in october's moonlight
someday