part one: Satu (or, a Fairy Tale)

I: Meeting


She tells you from the beginning that she is not fire.
Lit with sunset and strewn with lilies, she glows
a hue yet unknown to you
who beholds her, Satu.

Knowingly she sits in the center of your view.
Satu has learned: men are not moths.
They do not follow fire
for what little warmth it may impart
before, with a start, they are burned.
Illumination gentle, sweet and yellow
could not make that cold and shaded corner
the center of your view.

She shines darkly as October's stone,
unlucky for strangers to touch.
She holds tightly an October stone
nestled within woolen folds
that hide all of her
but her eyes, however deeply
they choose to retreat behind tired lids
and long, lily-red lashes ––
dangerous, they burn,
watching amused.

Knowingly you sit in the center of her view,
and she beholds you
who beholds her, burning:
and will her lips speak her name
if you ask them to?

She smiles.

"Satu."