SLEEPING PORCH, 4 A.M.

Woke in a drizzly haze and saw his futile twinkle on the screen by the bed: Here I am, here I am, here I am, blinking green-yellow long after his star-kin had crawled under leaves. I got up, caught him in my hands. Walking to the door with the light flashing between my fingers, I was the old woman in an older tale, holding the fairyking tight: I will not let you go till you show me the gold, build me the castle, open for me the door to eternal joy. But I let him go without conditions and alone he flew pleading above the long wet grass.