Melusine

Wool weft itch wrist
the woman tells you not to do the thing
you do the thing later
it is a normal thing and she is made of water and her father was a seamonster
or a god, or whatever
and you are a basically a king now and half of everything is in that nice rich color scheme
and really it is very nice
the rest is lowly fish colored, your demon son cracks the vases with his tail
day after day, it's a bother

Wool weave, sorry Sunday
earlier you stood up and walked in a circle and then forgot and sat and soon you will again
the second twin's twisted horn tears through tapestries
the sound is something, the silence wasn't
he gives up and she bathes in milk and it's kind of dramatic
you haven't done the thing yet

Wool weft vespers deep
this morning you stood up, washed, and laid back down again
the youngest child is well behaved but has one enormous knowing eye
his sweetness is burdensome
you found a needle on the floor and are annoyed when you stab yourself and it hurts
you do the thing, it is more than kind of dramatic, she leaves forever