The Princess Who Flew Away

Once, long ago, in a faraway land
there lived a princess
who was as old and dry
as a pile of rags.
She lived in a tower of rust, where all she had to eat
were weeds and sour cheese ,
and gnarled gnomes stabbed into her
with rough-barked thumbs.
One night, as the brass gong of the moon
sounded its single note, over and over,
she climbed the highest, most decayed turret
of her loneliness
and leapt.
Rags snapped,
and became wings.
Her fall became flight
and she flew far away.
Now she lives in a mossy forest
and is quite young again,
pink as a sunset
and happy.
As happy, at least, as one can be
without being a child or an animal,
content as the falling amber and umber leaves,
letting go.