Voie Périlleuse

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Abstract surreal by Tuminka at deviantart(dot)com

Even the stars blurred the night I left you. My cape, red as intent, propelled me down a path that seemed unreal, with trees that looked as if they were etched by an artist’s hand. But they came to life, the trees, breathed and rustled and burgeoned into a forest behind me as I made my way beneath the pregnant moon. They sighed gustlets of wind as they stirred. Fluttering handkerchiefs to catch each falling sorrow, or scrubbing pads to scour every image of you from the very heart of me? I still cannot be sure. — Annette Marie Smith

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Even the Death Sea

boat
Conceptual Photography by Dariusz Klimczak

We are all, all of us souls, boats. We find ports that call to us. We anchor. We dock. But the sea is always there and the sea is always calling. It is inevitable that we will unfurl our sails, like wings, and take to the tides again. Come Scylla and Charybdis, come Kraken, come Selkie and Siren, and all unplumbed depths. Even the Death Sea is not the last sea. — Eller Oarsson of Landsend from the Night Fairytale Series by Annette Marie Smith

The Stuff of Dreams and Beams

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Photography by Dmitry Kosterev

The new moon has its own night terrors:
Its milky toes juxtaposed with the pinching hinges
of tree branch traps,
the precision balance
required to navigate
heaven, horizon, and poet’s eye;
an inexhaustible quiver
of silver arrows paired
with the wolves of clouds hungry, howling,
for just such stuff. — Annette Marie Smith