Evening rides across the sky
with the last streaks of light
trailing golden, same as the cover
where Rapunzel’s hair flames the ether
as she gallops with her prince
into the dusk of blue fairytales.
You read me that book on nights
when darkness fell early and trees
gave a leafless nod to the wind.
I hungered more for words
than the pop-up magic of pictures.
Rampion struck my mind
with its syllabic ring; and you said a radish
her mother craved growing in the witch’s garden,
tangled and forbidden.
Yet, I assumed more. A charmed plant
that grew the girl’s hair a tower’s length
and sweetened her voice with soft arias.
Now you lie towered in hospice
6 floors up, hungering to enter another garden.
I want to feed you rampion
to slow the heart with song, ( a hymn on your lips)
and turn your silver strands into a current
that carries the hour softly.
Your husband waiting in the dawn.