What do a pile of submerged pennies mean
to an aquatic fae queen?
How does a cent turn into a wish?
Do you trade them, pawn them off
as golden tokens of a secret network
of well wishers, a society who grants open doors
at the sign of the copper?
Or are you a dragon, biding her time,
less inclined to ravaged
and more interested in
the story of a pauper
wishing to be king
You collect dreams
You give wisps of hope to the barren
they sprout up children with five heads,
only one survives,
weak, returning, allowance in hand,
to you
the dream gatherer,
the hope counterfeiter
but once in awhile
you throw in a doozie
a warrior’s vengeance
a queen’s demise
And as you slumber between visitors,
you weave a tale of humanity
with your scales, each one imprinted with a wish
each a refraction of desire
and it holds in your fire
like a holy vessel
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