A collaborative poem with the Oracle. I’m stuck in this corner of history for the moment.
Russet red hair she has,
head wreathed in scarlet flames
no rain can put out.
Beauty she has,
pale as moonlight,
old a thousand years,
yet bright as that summer in my mind’s eye,
the summer she met her king.
I dream of the red queen’s love,
in a forest lush and green
beneath purple hills.
She sleeps in shadows now,
since the sky ran red with blood,
but death cannot quench her fire
nor put out her light,
not while there are words
to trace her portrait and tongues to tell,
how the red rose vanquished the white.