lightwood

I will be both proud and mournful the day I see wisdom in your eyes I know the suffering it cost you to arrive at sublimity — how much hair and paper you tore, how much glass you shattered — what it took to move the potency and rage to the opposite bank how steep how far the fairy lights in the woods during frost We won’t have as much to say then but move slowly and softly as paintings, whispered revelations under Lady Light — wiping the cool panes with our open palms to calm the other’s fire melt sand into glass lightwood