The Iron Stove

He is both king and detective —
waiting by the shadowed gateway;
tracking her to the fields to watch
the golden hair sequence replay
itself before his hidden eyes.
Folded like a small deer, she lies
inside the stove — and only then
will forswear the oath of silence.
Her words journey through the stovepipe
to where the old king crouches unseen.
He hears her story and imagines
great bushes pricked all over with
blood-red berries; he feels her tears
and remembers a walk across
a wilderness of dawn-soaked grass.
When the alchemy of telling
and listening is done, he opens
the vessel's door and helps her out.
Now the story's unwoven threads
can be braided together.
The goose girl is dressed as a princess
and taken to meet her counterpart,
the prince. On a great sundial
at the centre of a courtyard between
garden and palace, they stand with linked hands.
Sometimes, their shadows merge,
or are distinct; sometimes, they point to
the queen, her mother; or the king,
his father; sometimes, to Falada,
or Conrad, or the serving maid.