Red is the Berry Still

---

*** (REVISED: 2‑28‑2026) ***

Everything, palace intrigue, shop‑worn tiara;

Two‑faced modelos: Espera por ti!

Model, tall hair, deigned for gowns, grown‑up hour;

Bejeweled and bedecked.

Night‑signs aloft, a signal hour, as dark goes the hearth.

Tierra: land still, darkness, black as ink,

Moon left for other regions, mother left:

A chaotic vacuum resides, all the while the ocean whispers—

One hears it on the beach—uncertainty.

But even heart of darkness, a count of infinity:

With steady hand, pick the red card over black

When choosing one’s destiny.

Abundant stars; patterns of the Zodiac.

Discarded, salt‑ridden blanket, sally forth:

“The Moon has abandoned at this turning hour

Of the shifting Zodiac, and now I am forlorn!”—

Thus the salt froth and foam speak their opinion.

As one strolls, the pitch‑black—

Behold the light’s absence.

“Such an uncustomary night.

Perchance the soldiers are getting ready

As they mount horses white?”

A green lady’s gloves to the lips.

Costume hour for the death of knight?

Clipped garden, never‑ending, fountain‑blue,

Spill forth your creativity,

Designs for naught in this Never‑Land of soupy dreams,

The Devil his due.

Talleyrand, fortune your spellbound hand,

Young the night:

“Curse is this darkness,” you say to yourself,

Not noticing all is heard,

Even if the ears be not of this world.

At least they have that advantage:

The brightness of torturous flames rendering flesh,

The funeral pyre.

Hold shall I my twilight tears;

Young soldiers call their lions, then their haste to lost lives, the den.

Fortune’s folly, I open dear gate,

Darkness holly, red robs the state,

The stem still sharp, and taste quite bitter.

— Red is the Berry Still

by James Legare

2‑27‑2026 (REVISED: 2‑28‑2026)

*** Red is the Berry Still, by James Legare ***