Dryad

Dryad

At first the light encrypted there
        when you stepped out
Into the mist—the windswept hair,
        the swirling rout

Of leaves—was held back by the stark
        and tangled names
That must take on a colder spark
        before they flame.

But when you spoke in runes, the choir
        of leaves was stilled
And all the trees became a fire
        of darkness spilled.