Alanath

Known and named! The flare of the candles
Plays on his eyes as I sit in shock.
Suddenly the furniture around me, mahogany handles,
Comes into being; it is the credit and stock
He would use to buy me, should I say I yield.
I sit among the shattered remnants of my shield,

And look into his eyes, seeing there a "yes,"
Of his own. This setting is to his liking.
He cannot know what passes in my mind, or guess.
Confident he is as a peregrine on striking
Down from the clouds on his balky prey.
I turn my head and mind and thoughts away.

Rushing, my memories pass with lightning pace
Towards the last house where I knew love and joy.
It is a warm, sun-touched, hidden place,
With woods cradling it as a child a toy
Will cradle and fondle in the palm of his hand.
There lived one who might my soul understand,

Had he cared to; his mind was ever elsewhere.
He tended the house, kept the gardens in flower,
Watched for signs of storm and clouds in the air,
And seemed unconscious of the dazzling power
That his smile bore when I came to him,
Walking into the gardens on a sudden whim.

Alanath was his name; he had no other.
He seemed to regard me as a little sister,
Though certainly I never thought of him as a brother.
He had had a twin, and said how he missed her,
Thought the grief was so old it was no longer tragic.
I watched him in the gardens; thus I saw magic.

The flowers bent towards him; leaves covered over
His golden-brown hair in a mantle of green.
His steps did not startle the quail from cover.
He spoke softly of both seen and unseen,
His eyes flashing like lights seen in a dream,
His smile flickering like light on a stream.

I came early one day, when he did not know
That anyone else was abroad in the dawn.
I stood watching him from shade of a shadow,
And saw that all the blooms in the garden had gone
Trailing down their veins as though to reach
My love Alanath. He spoke gently to each,

And they stretched their petals, blooming the wider.
They danced upon their vines like Maypole ribbons.
He laughed, that sound rich as autumn cider,
And the flowers gamboled at his feet like kittens.
Then suddenly he saw me; then his green eyes
Widened in discomfort and hard surprise.

He never spoke of it. But until summer's end,
He avoided my passage, and when he met me,
Would speak as to someone no longer a friend.
Even his flowers seemed willed to forget me.
When I entered the gardens, it was never, as before,
As though I found Faeryland by an unguarded door.

I woke one morning, and saw autumn gold
On the tree that hung just outside my glass.
The clouds had fled their summertime hold,
And I saw them across the sun swiftly pass.
It looked as deep as midnight, though I knew dawn
Had come and danced. My Alanath was gone.

Wincing from the memories, I open my eyes,
And look into the face of a man who loves
Me for my beauty, for my start of surprise
When he presents me with flowers or doves.
I start only because no dove on the wing
Would Alanath hold captive, or indeed any thing.

How should I accept? But how should I not?
I have thought of refusing, for I am bored
With anyone but Alanath, who is best forgot.
But why not love someone who is not a lord?
Alanath was not meant in my heart to tarry.
Whether he was a prince from the court of the Faery,

Or simply someone who found magic's gate,
He was beyond me, dedicated to his art.
And yet- if anyone else to earn my love is too late,
How should I bind or make captive my heart?
I remember the flowers around my dawn-dancer.
I turn to my lover, and I give my answer.