magic I

I swear it's a castle.
 littered with crystals
sometimes I step on the pins
holding the seams in the hardwood floors.
The infestation is the sequins.
A fortress, her mote filled with
scraps of organza and lace flowers
that wilt by nature but do not die.
The queen, so holy she
requires no patches.
I am unfamiliar with this form of magic,
bending light to make princesses.
The king turned grey this winter and
yet they dance