a bard believes in love
with all that he is
and all that he has
holds it in
his two trembling hands
regards warily sometimes
as judge, jury, garroter
making a home on
this island in the middle
of a vast ocean was
an act fueled by love
and maybe there’s a story
to be written here
about the lines in a
sea captain’s handsome face
carved there by roaring
wind and raucous laughter
maybe there’s a story
in the way a siren’s flame-red
hair fans out around her lithe form
where she stretches to gift
the bard pearls and a promise
of never being alone again
and maybe there’s a story
in the way a kitchen witch
welcomes the bard into her home
and a seat at her grand table
holds him steady against
the rocking of a weather
beaten pirate ship
there’s a story in these people
the bard has willingly tied himself to
how he immortalizes them in love
and the written word
keeping the lighthouse
like a beacon and a promise
of a love not like a choke-chain
but a fistful of flowers freely given
again and again and again