the milkpool warden

for t.a.b. He came, the milkpool warden brushing snow off shoulders, black eyes to cut water fingertips speaking in warm runes on my forearm. He danced in my closed eyes I saw kingdoms, firelit gemstones, songs in his low words, the prince of all wonder I heard his secrets – He left at moonset, unspoken, [...]

Filed under: verse | Posted on November 18th, 2002 by palmer

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A small site by Chris Palmer on speech & debate, IT stuff, maybe some politics...

"Azuen" doesn't mean anything. But there's a story.

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