For Her

the crowded streets of her mind are humming
with the noises of some indiscernible chaos.
there are a multitude of thoughts
running in long lined relay toward a glowing archway
at the top of a long and steep staircase.
there are exactly as many steps on this staircase
as there are freckles on her golden browned skin,
it is a long climb.
in a place that looks somewhat like a palace,
but feels more like a labyrinth, she finds herself, lost.
there is a december quality of cold encasing the bright light
encasing her body.
she has traveled the pathway with her thoughts,
running along side of them in equal time and stride,
many, many times.
every time she makes the trip
she forgets the palatial aspects of her surroundings,
she finds herself in a sweat,
overcome by the labyrinthine nature of the place.
in the palace is a prince.
in the labyrinth is a minotaur.
locked within the sweet smells of her braided hair
all of the denizens of her city sleep.
lulled to sleep by the beat of heart good heart
and the buzz of her great brain.
electric lights go out with each of her steps,
darkening the pathway behind her
down which the minotaur chases fiercely,
intent on devouring her flesh.
but as always she makes it to the end of the maze
that was never a maze, but was always a bright and glowing palace.
through oak and wrought iron doors she squeezes her supple frame,
as always, the minotaur recedes or evaporates or ceases to be.
instantly he is forgotten.
the prince who is an architect and a poet is there to build and recite.
the crowded streets of her mind again are humming.
she dreads facing the steps of the stairs and the walls of the labyrinth.
but as always she steps into pace with her thoughts,
and on they run.