to the queen’s rescue
court jester hoists me up
far enough
my hands grasping the bow
feet skimming along the bark
stepping vertically until
finding myself in seated position
like a fisherman
from there I cast my line
past the edge
hook motioning like a pendulum
butterfly bait caught in
capillary branches
fluttering and struggling
to belabor a million breaths
crawling out on bloodline branch
the fate of coin weighs
heavily upon a commoner’s quest
either flipping and falling
straight to the ground
or forever hailed as the
queen’s guardian angel
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
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