it is the morning

she brushed back the sheer curtain
her eyes feasting on the horizon

this was the day

butterflies greeted and dressed her
she walked without sound toward the glass door

it was locked

the music stopped
the grandiose scene melted away
run down paint colors made her gown into sack rags

she stood silent

then lept up and howled
howled louder and louder
until she grew fur and fangs

she slashed thru the shattering
and ran from the room

running faster thru the trees
faster and faster until all was streakby and blur

she came to the edge of a cliff
a promontory over which there was no bridge
and no beast could leap across

she cried
cried into the sky

fangs became beak
fur turned to feather

she was a raven

she sailed on the currents across effortless chasm
there would be freedom

wind became night dark and cold
the above broke and rain fell
heavy drops pelted her down

she crashed into branches

and woke,
bedsheets tangled
in the chamber of the king as she had fallen
asleep there waiting...

to begin...