Conte Bleu (The Blue Fairy Book)
Start, as always, with pebbles
an aproned woman urging you away
into woods with a fluster of language like "ogre"
"treasure." Slick her words with your spit
and curve them behind the little white bones
eye sockets then, stone by stone,
track a sequence of light that takes a mind to meander,
old bread (but it would break
your throat) or dropped pearls (all untradeable).
these from drifts of blue forest floor
and into your pockets. When, in the distance,
clear yodel of grief claims this is no way
to return, and the blues near at hand skip
own into black, swing your head,
filled with words, into that darkness.
you are well and truly lost, let the story begin.
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