Fortune's Fool

Fortune’s Fool hung her head,
Lank hair falling across the desk as
She breathed in the books

And mothballed secrets rolled out
From under the winding wooden posts
Of the bed, kissing the floor,

Those paper-cut fingers on her
Skin, skimming like the hair brushing
Across his forehead in morning,

She turned the pages of letters
Folded and wound inside out like the
Twisted glass of hurricane lamps

He used to light the secret meal
They ate on the sand to the sound of
Whispering waves on the shingle,

And like stars colliding and crossing
They flared brightly in a wishful
Delirium of dreams, of fates,
That were never made for them.

She opened her eyes to find snow
Billowing from clouds, lonely white,
To find him standing there, his

Eyes ghosting through her, deep
In conversation, while providence
Laughed at her foolish faith.