Through a Glass Artly

02/10/2026

She stood atop the castle like a thesis statement in silk,
a glowing bride happily footnoting her own forever.
Her shoes were flowers bold ones
petals curled around her toes as if even the daisies had RSVP’d yes.
Her cape lifted itself to debate the moon about timing,
while she smiled, already decided, already in love.

Below, the world made its usual objections
gravity, doubt, the weather but she waved them off,
because this wasn’t a leap of faith, it was a confirmation.
She laughed (bells took notes this time),
and the castle, the sky, the future leaned in
the thunder cleared its throat, finding no argument
and folded itself into the margins of the sky.

02/10/2026

02/10/2026

The trees were outrageously alive,
chlorophyll drunk, humming with the smugness of things
that turn sunlight into lunch.
They gossiped about her knees, her laugh,
the way she treated gravity as a casual suggestion.
Somewhere a squirrel felt overdressed.

The river, incurably romantic,
kept trying to hold her and failing
which is what rivers do best.
Summer sprawled everywhere, sticky and opinionated,
insisting that nothing be efficient
and everything be felt twice.

If the forest had a point, it forgot it on purpose.
And she, rinsing her hands in the green-lit water,
was proof that joy does not need permission
only a place to loiter and enough light
to make a little trouble.