Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash
All the little ones from the village
entrance themselves by the dark
opening, its possibilities of sanctity.
Without a torch, deeper into earth
where shade lives strongest
all things suddenly turn transparent
bright
white
light
all the rainbow
all at once:
One luminous fairy
her face the stars
Their bodies blind in the glow
She combs her hair
They watch
She combs her hair
They watch
A brilliance grows
with heat and the mundane.
Sparking swirls of indigo
a spiral of mint and pink
the flash dims flickers fizzles
And then.
It ends.
And the children go back down the woodland path.
They stumble over the same stones they navigated before.
They nestle back into their blankets
save for one empty bed.