christabel on the slope

in that time
when you were lost to us

we waited for you –

there were those who said
she’s in a castle

others,
a spire of religion –

but some knew of your
caravan –

humble, yellowed –
and that you must be there –

and now you’re on the slope –

you hold in your hand
an orb –

you present it –

volcanic jet
heavy, glossed –

it’s a poem, a fiction, a wild art –

you’re a saviour of
creators,

the driven –

those who seem normal
but inside are not

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