Nominated for the Rhysling Award…
Beneath grey spires Sits a tiny pub of chalk-stone walls, Dry wooden posts made marble pillars, Shelves with bottles, green and brown, Tweed suits, sweaters and ties. There I sit, And with my chums, Jack and John, Dwindling stems of warm thick beer, John, as always, with a pipe, Words swim of silent shores Found nowhere but paper and that wandering eye, Sworn to re-forge the king's sword, And ride behind the lion's mane. Jack and John become their creations And energy shifts from the open mouth Into the imagination--where the white wizard withers to a foul-eyed witch, fading back into pale shadows: a green-cloaked ranger smoking no longer sweet vanilla but pine and campfire. Iron lamps dim with weary fuel, As songs fade at evening's end, Where a pearl homeward horse and sleigh await, That none but Jack and John might ride. Away they fly: Lost in a moonless mist, Me, still behind.
- Mythic Delirium (no link available)
- Rhysling Anthology (no link available)