Halcyon

want of wisdom

they say the foolish always want,
and wanting does.
so she watched, bright-eyed,
restless and beautiful,
the calm other women wore
cool enough to quiet storms,
still enough to hold the stars.

she was born of heat,
of pulse and hunger,
all flame and no map.
she learned desire
before she learned direction,
felt first, thought later.
a gift, if you called it living
a laugh that bent rooms,
a touch that made doors open
but a wound,
if you called it staying,
if you asked her to last.

when want envies wisdom,
even joy forgets its shape.
what good is being adored,
if no one trusts you with tomorrow?
what good is every candle,
if you never learn the sun?
clarity crowned the other women,
and reverence followed.

one pause, one thought,
wisdom over beauty,
as always.
and as legends go,
even gods listened longer
to reason than to song.

her mirror glittered,
but said nothing back
no owl for counsel,
only echoes of applause
that faded too quickly.
who teaches a wildfire
to admire a stone that does not burn?
her wanting shone,
but not the kind histories keep.
the rose glanced at the olive tree
and misunderstood its roots.

how would it be,
she wondered,
to be trusted with silence,
and not chased for a spark
that vanishes by morning?
alone in a room full of mirrors,
her reflection blinked,
sharp, sudden, splendid,
confused by a dangerous thought,
in her most restless heart,

you are a river, it said
and yet you envy the shore.

maybe it was right.
or maybe it was wrong.
she wanted wisdom more than anything
so how could wanting ever be wise?