She came here last night
(the spinner of diamonds),
and just as the old ones said
in their faerie tales,
she devoured all the earthly trees
and left in their place her many webs,
sparkling and crackling
in their dead-voiced howls.

Those faerie tales.
Heralded by skies
the color of her own heart,
the spinner comes to make her sport,
and just as the village is suffocated
in the frost and rainbows,
a princess (a warrior-beast) arrives
to steal the spinner's blue heart
and shatter it with a rusty spear.

She had been waiting all winter to come,
I believe,
for the sky of mirrors at twilight
always reflected the blue of polar ice,
the heart of Antarctica,
and of the spinner,
And the sea of mirrors beneath
also reflected the sunsets
that remain to this day
unseen by the people of my village.

I do not doubt our princess
had also heard these old stories,
for my heart cramped and shivered my blood
just as the first rusty shaft of sunlight
pierced my carefree eye.

And the sky of mirrors at twilight
that night
reflected the blue of lovers
sharing
kiwis.