I remember the day we first met. In the doorway of that tiny boutique with the leadlight windows on the corner of Main and Wharf. You looked expensive, all laced-up leather and felted wool, commando meets catwalk. Your friend was in stitches about something, and it was when you turned to her and stuck out your pretty tongue - then, right then - that was the moment that I decided you were going to be mine.

I put aside my embarrassment and guilt. I ignored the whisperings of my empty wallet, and the thought of what my flatties would say in the morning. I picked you both up and took you home. Two for the price of one.

Ten years later, both of you are still around. Not quite as streamlined and sassy as you used to be. Your souls - my bad - soles are in need of repair, your white stitching has blackened, and your brass eyelets are looking a little worse for wear. But we’ve walked miles haven’t we? You, me, and your mirror image - BFFF - Best Feet Forward Forever.

She sits upon her royal chair,
eating a donut, drinking coffee, smoking a plume
smoke rising like a phantom menace in the air.

She calls upon her royal friends she sees,
the batting false eyelashes to a perfect stranger
asking the "gentleman" only for his "hand" by all means.

She drives in her royal chariot,
A red and orange one, flaming stripes at the sides, singing
Songs about the battles and triumphs of wartime's "great" merit.

One day this lovely newborn bird will fly the coop,
the child I know by rights was a born queen! She'll
win first in pageants and then we'll drink to soul's soup.

A one thousand page hymn
singing from lotus petal pages
bound on hummingbird wings

Subtle energies
unfolding, unfurling
unwinding within

Celestial prophecies
unrooting in elements
of oceans of water of air

Gaia and Uranus
blooming from
aetheric nests

Subterranean spelunking
unweaving a gossamer cloak
from plumes of the Red-Tailed Hawk