Leah Umansky

Game of Thrones In this story, she is fire-born: knee-deep in the shuddering world. In this story, she knows no fear, for what is fractured is a near-bitten star, a false-bearing tree, or a dishonest wind. In this story, fear is a house gone dry. Fear is not being a woman. I’m no ordinary woman, she says. My dreams come true. And she says and she is and I say,yes, give me that.

Game of Thrones A man is only worth what people say he is and those Starks are good stock. They’ll knee-deep it. They famish the craving they are fathered by. Manning the forestry of life, they are steadfast and sturdy. When pungent or cruel, they sauce the ache. Light folds them in two. What I want to say is,I would meet you upon this. Let me, too, carry the token of the world. Tell me the secret of what comes next, and then take me river       river        river

Game of Thrones Follow where all is. / Follow the transfused. / Follow what is still and what is still-attracting. That light / That beauty / That love / That, that is massy-borne and rising up, like a drifting star. Like stars lift. / Like lifting stars. / Like the lifting of stars, I rose. I rise. Rose. Rose. Like a thing beyond words: satiated. Let lie in the ravage. / Let lie in what is ravaged-wrought. Why fear what hasn’t become? I beckon, like light. / Like a star, I will beckon. / You will oblige. / You will lend the want. You will eclipse my blinding. You will know nothing. Nothing. You will know nothing of what has been dark.

+ This is a poured-truth dressed in memory and cut down; this is a matter ruff; a gray middle the world is in flight and many things circle. What world do you want me in? I ask. But I am confronted with touch, the work of hand and eye, and a kept-remark roaming ... When in Rome, I think. + A dressed-memory: never did more frill mean curtained-silence. Hello? We’re here, they say. I remember the moment first-harvested: no possible brimming is ever frank. At that age, who knew filth could be forward. I thought I could cut it down. + Look, the leaping is possible, I think. I watch the way evening attaches to us. See its starting point? It banded, uncontrolled and gleaming. Our jewel. Not all worlds see the darkness. Remember: the world is good, that leaping center is a tuned heart. I want that melody. + What world do you want me in, now? I ask I feel broad-throated, and slippy. I say,tell me the times the chronicle mentions me. 56, she says. Let me be clear: I knew. I said,I knew. I wanted to have my own grown romance.Plant me another. Do it now.