Oh, the wildness of the teller in her cave of bone!
She finds dragons in stumps, faces in every carpet.
The smell of whisky, the texture of satin,
a whisper behind a half-closed door,—
how will she make it cohere?
Was it once upon a time, or ever after?
Snakes and bears are real enough,
and mirrors trying to reflect what’s fair.
She searches her fallible senses
entwined with shadowed remembrances
and pieces a pattern, a dream, a tale— something
that might be true, or that someone might believe.