Photo Credit: Heiko Müller, the formidable German Surrealist Painter
The hour came
When she no longer knew
Where to stand and so
She sat
In the middle of a ground
Hollowed of movement
And sound.
Wrapped her arms around
The tops of her knees,
Squeezed and held
Herself in a balance
That felt like a trance.
Faded memories danced,
Then turned into smoke,
Lifted up
And away—
Transformed day into
Night,
Where what was bright
Had taken flight.
There was no way
To know for sure
Where her plight would
Take her
Or send her next
But to a dream—
So she slept and found
That nightmares abound,
But dreams are the things
Worth stepping into.
And so
She slept
And she stepped.
She entered—
Her feet soaked in regret,
A substance heavier than she knew.
Underfoot,
Leaves crunching,
Small souls darting,
Dripping mysteries and dew.
She stood in a hidden forest
Where light was shattered
By shadow—
The sun trickling
Down tree trunks
Until devoured by shade.
In this place—
Where light and dark collide—
Life breathed
Without fear of
Being censured
Or scrutinized.
Her hands trembled,
Adding vibration to the breeze
Shaken loose from unseen clouds,
Wrapping around her skin
And seeping past
Petrified courage within.
Location undisclosed—
To she and he and me.
Lost inside—
No fear of being unfound,
No regret of being drowned
Between the monotony there
And this rising cacophony of sound—
Increasing swells surrounding,
Like a riptide racing outward,
Tearing her loose from security,
Crowning her
With confounding obscurity.
A subsequent Queen
Bowed low—
In coronation,
Surrendered to unpredictability,
Relinquished proposals
And control.
Her scepter raised,
Exposing the cavity
Of beating heart and soul,
Warring against
Encroaching enemies
Threatening to bring her low.
She breathed.
She sighed.
She caught the eyes
Of a creature drawing near.
In him—a revelation
She held dear,
Yet sensed she should not go near.
Stuck
Between stimulus
And choice—
As thick as tangled underbrush below,
As wide as these grounds
She did not know—
She stood still.
A stabbing thrill
Entered her side,
Some kind of alive
Breaching the tenderness
Of the space
Where her secrets hide.
She lowered her scepter,
Compelled to disavow
The tenacity of her presence here—
In a place
Perhaps she should fear.
There he stood,
Quite near.
Treading upon this undisclosed ground
Gave air to her footsteps,
And she, like a child,
Laid her focus
At the feet of he
And of mysteries
Surrounding her there—
She worshiped at the altar
Of her long-forgotten
Sense of wonder.
Unexpected places.
Unimagined faces.
Unforeseen encounters
Reminded her that life
Is an unpredictable force—
Impossible to bridle
By will alone.
“Let it be,”
Said she—
With an indignant air
Of possibility,
A heaviness in her lungs
Making it difficult to breathe—
Yet she breathed,
And she sighed,
And she moved into his realm,
Stuck her fingers in,
And pried him open—
Revealing his positives
To her negatives.
A Pandora’s Box
Of magnetism—
Cataclysmic exposure,
Volcanic disclosure—
Blasted through their chests
And up through
The tops of the trees.
A burst of what was unseen
Careened,
Trading winds
With all that was seen—
A hurricane of chemistry,
Unforeseen,
Destroying the routine
Like a machine
Come to life
With a sharpened pulse.
She realized too late
That being crowned
In her dream
Unbound her stream
Of waking consciousness—
Stuck now inside her sleep,
Between worlds,
Stewing in a concoction
Of waking memory
And present dream.
She remembered when
She had a choice—
When she sat
With her arms wrapped
Around her knees,
A breeze of normalcy
Blowing across
Tear-stained cheeks:
“The tears I knew
Were softer
Than these torrents
Where light and dark
Steal what was—
What is—
And twist the present
With what they undo.”
The hour returned.
She no longer knew
Where the path of her then
Met the path of her now.
So she sat with her crown,
Awaiting sundown—
Her sleeping life
Mingling within
Her subsequent kingdom.
© Jill Szoo Wilson, updated 2026
Jill Szoo Wilson 