beauty like a brand, a torch
set to tinder, a sun that
flails the crops in the dry time?
what are you to me? not flesh
but a speck of light, dazzling --
a dream that muddles the mind
upon abrupt awakening
what are you to me? nothing
but air in an open hand
wind through fingers, the music
of the sidhe, pulling my step
tugging my soles, my hands, blood
rising and thrilling, the sap
in the pine bough that bursts in
the fire-path, scented resin
and you will rush through me, for
that is what you are -- a sun
sparking the heat, the thunder
the whip of the lightning
to hold a dream carved of flesh
eats your heart with pure white teeth
and brands you a slave, cowering
under the tyrant of need
so no. my dream came to me
with her sun-face, her white feet
bare in the snow, and i can
but hide my head from desire.
burn elsewhere, my torch, my sun
my dream -- i'd rather a girl
with the heart of the village
than the very shape of sky