A Letter to Her Majesty in Restless Triumph

“There was no way to know of the success with which the myrtles would take to their new beds here. They bloom now, scent the air vigorously and the children pass along their rows, tempted to take whole boughs away. My queen, I miss the sound of your skirts in the halls of this home, and all our seven cities scattered now makes me weep to think of you there in Attilan, without me. I watch the mermen here, their huge tails scatter the waves to foam as they race each other out to where their whales wait for them,

The Exile’s First Morning

The city had fled its moorings in the night, to race the clouds that had surrounded it while we slept. Now we float above the beach, the bottom will shave the dune-tops off if we continue on, and of course the subway tunnels are all in danger of filling with sand.

A boy on the beach, makes from bathing, waves at me when our eyes meet. He rises and walks, shining and wet, stays neatly ahead of our shadow. Our guide.

In the chapel below me the vicar rides his stone horse in a circle while angels somersault through the air above him,