sweet precipice

skin like rose petals
warmed by a summer's sun,
fragrant.  gentle.
fundamentally seductive.
I kiss the selke's shoulders
to taste the essence where her hair
lay.  mingled with the presence of 
every flower of the shore.  brave buds
and blossoms that float on as if
of passion and sweet precipice.


sea leopard

like a leopard of the sea.
circling.
silently.
her doomed prey the selke hunts.
powerful and graceful.
eyes dark and luminous.
look away.
or be mesmerized
to fall easily to her lethal embrace.
a leopard's heart.
and angel's face.
and warm as the nights are cold.


spinning lies

lay with me as the tides come in
and I will with you, shed the skin
that hides our truth from prying eyes.
at the water's edge, spinning lies.


new nets

I cannot weave new nets today.
the old ones twist and fold and fray
and beg repair by heart's honest chore
before they cast for love once more.


legacies in the old wreck

were every man or woman of common
state or legend were to view the twisted 
hulks of dead ships that lay at the bottom 
of the selke's domain, none would ever 
dare seek their fortune or joy on anything
more risky than a locked door and a quick
death.  for I can show you a thousand reasons
never to love or hope or dream or wish.
but then all I have to do is see a smile
of the right intent, or a goal of a bright extent,
and I know that there is more to this life
than the complacency that comes from fear.


the cliffs of Avalon

near the ancient castle there are cliffs.
immense and daunting.  haunting remnants
of where ancient gods strode and hewed
the rock with fingers like bronze and souls
like iron.  and it is said if a poet with love
in his heart dares mount these cliffs and hurl
himself towards the infinite sea below, if
he does not know fear, he will grow the wings
of the bard dragon before he meets his doom.
and I have seen this, reflected in the selke's
eyes as she watched me fall towards her.


at the selke's feet

may I sit at the selke's feet and beg yet a moment
of her company?  for the road is blasted with rocks
and stones and the smell of fallen demons and dragons
and saints, and I could use a soft smile once.  just once.
before I pick up my shield and my sword and ride
into hell once more to find something as beautiful
as the inspiration in the eyes of a legend.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)