Beggars and Fairies

Wandering fae dances with the leaves
in her hair and moonstone reflecting
in her eyes.
her hair, tinted lavender by the night,
glistens as the clouds hide behind
a morning that is no longer
a given.

a city clock strikes 2:38
and nobody really knows why,
but dogs cry in the farthest room we know
and all we can do
is listen
and hope.

{and a beggar keeps on begging,
his knuckles scrape off untouched grounds;
nobody knows his name}

but dancing fae knows he is there;
a man with no mask who is entirely
familiar yet the strangest being she's
never seen.

(and the morning doesn't come,
and the night doesn't last
-- but we're still here)