The HyperTexts

Caitlin Clase

Caitlin Clase is an aspiring writer who spends more time reading than writing. She loves the sound of bells, the smell of vanilla, and any color of a jewel toned hue.



Sunset

Docked there at the brink of the bright red brim of night,
she floats in a bay of dwindling light—the sun
in reeds of cattail trees that rim and run
horizon’s shore and ship’s hull, honeyed and bright.
Hail vim and vision! Hail fine, free folds of light
unfurled and tossed to catch, in sails of spun
silk gold, the carrying winds! Then day’s undone—
the tides slip in for ship and dimming sight.
And yet the rising tides of night, deep blue
enough to blind, can do no worse—night bars
from sight but leaves the subjects of sight to stand.
Bright prow and billows hold true, sailing through
the peak and plunge of waves foam-tipped in stars—
day’s cargo unharmed, beyond frail sight’s command.

Originally published in The New Stylus




Clementine

And oh! Most heartily am I glad
Of the fact that this bright
And bursting fruit to be had
In the days of little light
And bitter cold at Winter’s start,
This orange, this star in Winter,
Is surely the very heart
Of the Summer, the flaming center. 

Originally published in The Chained Muse



Sunrise Triolet

Where sky meets land—a gold cloud band;
But we are Michelangelo’s Adam,
Faint finger raised to outstretched hand.
Where sky meets land, a gold cloud band. 
The swirling starlings lightly land,
Perch, and sing at the edge of the chasm
Where sky meets land. A gold cloud band—
But we are Michelangelo’s Adam.

Originally published in Amethyst Review



The Fountain

Parked high atop a hill, we tumbled out
In a whirl, with riotous laugh and shout, from a car
We filled past full. We found an answering shout
Of mirth, of dark pink light swift paling star-
Bright white across the pond below—a world
Drenched through with splash of color newly born
Of daylight’s ending. Amethyst waves unfurled
And broke above our heads, blue fringed. The worn 
And burnished sun a coin far flung—a fine,
Sharp, fleck of heavy gold falling through
A light-pricked fountain. It struck a lingering line 
Of rippling laughter—tossed wish against that hue
Of blackening blue above: for pink and gold,
Pooling in our eyes, to stain and hold.



The Dryad

In a bloom of midmay light,
Bright boon of day long lain
Away, long hidden behind
A crumpled grey curtain
Of rain and fog and rain,
Of water in ceaseless refrain,
There stood a swift, still moment
Too fine to long maintain:
A girl for glance of eye—
Then pear tree once again.
With bright green beads of new
Born leaves along her train—
crowned in dewdrop diadem,
And bridal veil of rain.
Some slip of sunlight falling
Made lace of every leaf vein.
A girl for glance of eye,
Then pear tree once again.
Strung along a limb as lithe
And slender as silver chain,
Bloomed pearls of petals curled
And corked tightly to contain
A foam and rush of flowers
Splashed out like pale champagne.
Soon set at naught by shade,
She lost her brief domain.
Sprung up from things too swift,
too strong to long refrain—
A girl for glance of eye,
Then pear tree once again.

Originally published in The Chained Muse



Swallow

We set out at the start
Of the ending of the day,
As close companions to wind
And pale, cold light pearled gray 

With coming rain. We stopped—
A single swallow swung
Over the crest of the hill; 
The wheeling world seemed hung 

Upon his crescent wings.
A burst of skyward speed.
A plunge down from the heights.
A sudden turn impedes

The shattering of fragile delight—
Of delicate, flame-blown blue. 
And for a single moment
It was nothing but true

That if the world were only
That bird above the hill,
The world would be enough—
That Time had held its fill. 

Originally published in The New Stylus



The Water Sprite’s Song

There’s a spring in the woods, long forgotten,
And it’s there at the bottom I lie,
With a world of dark waters above
Where I rest with my face to the sky.

In the dusk and the dim and the quiet,
In a dream of deep jade and dark blues,
It is there at the bottom I lie
And I watch as the colors diffuse.

Through the green glass globe that the woods
Far above made a roof of my waters,
A small piece of gold filters down
And I hold out my hand as it falters

Along its slow path—but a leaf,
That has faded and fallen, not a coin,
Is the gold that I hold and so toss
To the crumbling currents to join

With the shadows deep down here below.
In the sky seems a gathering darkness,
With a heart of high winds set against
The bold saffron flags of the iris.

But the gray cloud bursts in confusion
With the wings and the songs of small birds,
And black feathers fly off in profusion
As they scatter like windswept words.

Where the swing and the lull of the waters
Is the sunlight and soil to shadows
That billow and bloom here below,
It is there that I wait. The wind blows—

The trees bow and part at its passing,
Throwing down a bright net of clear light—
A few silvered threads flutter loose
And I watch as they fall from their height,

Fall and fill up the depths with cold crystal-
Cut, glittering light. An ascent
As they glance and they gather, a crescendo
Of echoing light in descent.

There’s a spring in the woods long forgotten,
And it’s there that stray light strikes strong,
As it warbles it’s way through dark waters
With a clarity keen as a song.

The HyperTexts