The boy and his Lion

The boy stood there
guarding the Lion,
his Lion.
“There was a girl here once,
a fighter,
and I will not let her back here again.”
He looked up at me
with defiant eyes
bluer than the sky,
deeper than the sea,
beyond his years.
I came down to meet his face,
“What did the fighter do?”
His eyes pierced but
I could see that hint,
that touch, of sadness.
“She did what she pleased,
she pushed and
pulled,
she came and
went,
she was the Lioness
to my Lion
and she ran.”
The boy crossed his arms
as though speaking of this
would somehow jeopardize his heart,
his Lion,
his wellbeing.
I touched his arm
hoping to undo his stance,
urging him to look into me
again.
When he looked at me,
this time,
he could see it.
In my eyes he could see
the fighter
with her mage
laughing
dipping in that sea
as they used to,
greeting the night
and kissing goodbye the morning
as they used to.
And though he was afraid
the boy mage could not look away;
the strength in his arms
wavered,
the bite in his eyes
softened.
And after so long,
the fighter and the mage
looked at one another
again
and neither one was
running.

(Also posted on my Medium blog.)