Come with me. Through crazed,
Embroidered webbing of night, come.
Without your aid I am useless. I need
To gallop past lips red and hungry, dripping potions.
I move in shame and stumbling;
Give me your holy dance. Light the flagstones,
One by one, flowering in praying light.
The night is weeping worms
And you must choose my steps: a careful
Bedouin rhythm, a rippling foreign tongue.
Sing to me as Echo sang to her lover,
All bloodless skeletons and spirochetes of song.
Take me to where miracles lap at your legs,
Your feet smash the helmets of rock-solid thunder gods,
And hope spreads like a rumor of mutiny.
Savannah Thorne attended the University of Iowa where she graduated from the Writer’s Workshop. She also holds two cum laude master’s degrees. Her poetry has been published in over a dozen journals including The Missouri Review, Potpourri, The Wisconsin Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, and The Atlanta Review. She recently became managing editor of Conclave: A Journal of Character.