Written for a competition — poems on legends — a long while back
And so, these children
swan-songed for nine hundred years.
not once like dying swans -
their voices caught in echo
all the charm imprisoned music knockingly perpetuates
on walls of cells, in lonely cloisters,
through the empty vaults of guarded palaces,
leaning into silence at their death.
And what of Eva?
Such a charming demon!
for her spells slipped like small snowdrops
into nothing at the fond tinkling of a Christian bell.