Green Eyes in Bernem

He came with drums through Bernem’s gate, With grace like wind and steps like fate. A shadow moved in spotted skin— And joy erupted deep within. His eyes were green as forest spring, His laughter quick, a leaping thing. The crowd would cheer, the nobles stare— As Bearn would flip through midnight air. I wandered lost in cloak and thought, A stranger with no name to spot. When danger crept through alleys tight, He fell like moonlight, swift and right. He swept me up with wicked grin, His tail a question, brow a sin. “My lady,” said the rogue in lace, “You’ve clearly lost your proper place.” I joined his stage, I learned to move, To match his rhythm, step, and groove. He spun me round, and when we’d land— He’d pull a kiss with steady hand. He taught me grace in jump and fall, How to fly and still stand tall. His body sang a jungle’s tune— And I was dusk, and he, the moon. A time we danced, a bend and more, In silks and laughs and bedroom floor. The world felt light beneath his tread— And I believed what hearts had said. But even flames of joy burn low, When illness rides on winds that blow. The Breken Plague cared not for grace, It dimmed the stars in Bearn’s face. He danced no more, he leapt no height— He shivered through the final night. I held him close, he smiled once— Then slipped from time, and left me months. He taught me more than leaps and lines— He showed me joy with no designs. To live out loud, to kiss mid-fall, To rise again when curtains call. And though he’s gone, he stays in me— The dancer’s heart that won’t let be. I carry him in every spin— A rhythm stitched beneath my skin. I see him still in city squares, In rooftop jumps and daring flares. And when I spin in candlelight— His tail still flickers out of sight.