The Mystic Runaway

Beyond the seventh tower

across the raven's grasp

lie a tiny wire comb

atop this iron path.

Underneath such tower

live a liar, there.

Finely combing every thread

of her wire hair.

Asking

"Can you save me?

Will you meet me, where?"

Yet her pleas stand,
a siren's song,
floating in the air.

For the path has gone,

the wire, sod,

& just a liar there.