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Feasts of Fire and Air Poetry by Virginia Stewart
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The Tempest
(for Frances)

I was enraptured by the slaugh ron,
enticing me with nacre eyes
Into a frothing sea,
lost in linen wracked waves,
While high, sweet pipes of shell and bone
wailed a summoning to the queen of amber and lightning.
She has risen from storms of coral and nectar
in her chariot of starlight and skulls
drawn by six white swans with blood spattered wings.

In innocent, savage joy she laughed
and I yielded to embraces of steel and sorcery.
She pressed my lips to throbbing moonlight,
and drank up the warm tides of breath that rose in red mist.

Did not the night pour down vermilion tears
As the void closed over us in perfect, silent thundering?

She is away with the slaugh ron,
hiding in thick and perfumed pools of amaranth.
Shall I not call the wild hunt for her
in the place of storm blown specters
across the reefs of glass and frankincense?
Will she hear the horns and the hounds and rise up
to bathe in the winds
Remembering a carnelian tempest of hunger
rending the pieces of broken ocean
that now lay glittering in the sand.

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