I marry at your feet, but only you can move me
Nu Folk dangles from a deck
My ekphrastic breastplate speaks to the abstruse courtier
Who would think I was one of fourteen?
Your Eleanor, my Isobel, whose slippers in the grate
tarry, but true empathy is kept for this
I make history in the Tower,
fleece the rent to peruse a commentary
time hovels through days’ dreamt tyrant
To choir would sully this grasp
Two Americas checked off, one Ireland picked,
all these wrappings.
Hived in insignia your enchained horse canters
as entreaties whistle up a kingdom
I would push my galleons to charge for you
blowy and stern
And here I decipher some longing, the flowered verse
not sent returns to oak.
But let’s walk, diplomacy can stick it
Pennants beam into air, and all trials you meant and break, twinned princes
not annul but stayed