When a maiden crafts her own forest portal, the imagery of free verse breathes forth from the circlet.

Her Own View

The curves of her form would contract in expansion
should she construct a portal

View from beneath the water oaks in front of this poet’s house — Isabel, Louisiana, edited with Bazaart.

A poser for Titiana may scold a daydream
to have the mendacity to emerge as her dragon
as she plaits his canard
in midsummer tucks strewn through the eve of the moon.

With a body prone to wanton as any orb could wane,
perhaps she’d bend at the wing hips to weave two or three stems
gathered near speckled horns of foxglove and sprigs of fennel
seeping dew through the frume.

The curves of her form would contract in expansion
should she construct a portal
from the frame in her hands binding wildflowers grounded,
just that she might peer through the fragrant hole
to bare forth the content of her story.

Fire could be found in a breath of morning
where mild is to flagrant and rhyming is chaos
should such a maiden control her own view.