Drifting near the apple barrel
by the battered bellflower
I hide from the doppelgängers
I remember: Oberon
went to the Rhone with his beloved,
my mistress brokenhearted;
and Peaseblossom sailed to Ablach
with a black stone. Mustardseed
dug to distant Dispater; Moth
mistook light for Mag Mell. My
silver labyrinth is now a wisp
adrift, preserved, forgotten.
Crept to a crevice, a dark
dusty corner, spider legs
tangled in my hair. I watch the
little ones mimicking us–
drawn to them. The giants and their
machines have made this world too
perfect for me. I will never
see my family again.
But wait! Across the grass I spy
a pair of eyes; familiar.
They dart to mine, a slow smile;
he sneaks around to join me.
Puck reeks of must and ashen things,
his horns are cracked and torn; but
he seems relieved to see my face.
A glimmer from long before.
I weave a web between his horns,
collapse in restless sleep. Teased
by his tulpas, shivering; in
echoes Puck is beckoning.
Alone on the apple barrel,
by the battered bellflower,
the field is clear, my web is damp–
uncertain I dreamt it all.