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.