I Wonder

. . .and I contemplate 
What lives behind your eyes

I wonder how 
You can be all that you are
And still not know
The wonder of you

And I wonder
Who lives behind your eyes

What is the name
Of this nameless thing
That rises unbidden in me
Whenever you enter the room

And I wonder
Who lives inside your heart

And why it can't be me

The Museum of Arcane Objects

The Truth

Nisha enters by the Western door
The Museum is quiet and dark
dusty and
Foreboding and . . .

“Neat.”  she says
“Old man?  Where are
you old man?
I’m here
Like you asked
I’m here
Now where are you?”

“I’m here
For the love of . . .
Now be quiet.”

“But you said you wanted me to come here.”

Yes I do
But if you keep shouting
My thoughts will be jumbled . . .”


“Let’s try talking about seeing first.
Describe to me what you see.”

“You mean other than you?
Well its all kind of a mess
This place is a mess
that’s what I see.”

“How is it that you see so little?
There are so many things here.
This is Hannibal’s hatchet
This is a flask of the Tears of Eve
You know what this is
This is the string of time
and this
right here is the knot of the present
This is the asp of Cleo . . . “

“But its all stuff.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is just stuff.”

“Young lady these are details
And it is said that without details
Everything is everything
Which means nothing.”

Anaxamander shuffles off
and Nisha
Down a long hall
With Pictures on the walls
you know
those pictures that watch you as you pass
She thinks they are creepy

Through an open air cloister
with a
fountain in the center

“Can we have lunch here?”


“Lunch here?”

“Lunch is in the dinner . . .”

“Can we bring it out here?”

“I suppose . . . come along.”

He opens a wall that turns out to be a door
And the inside is so bright
She can’t see at first
As her eyes adjust she can see he holds a hoop

“Can you see this?”

“Yes sir.”

“Describe it to me?”

“It’s a gold hoop
About an arm wide.
Is that writing in the outside?”

Anaxamander nodes ‘yes’ and throws the hoop up
It hangs there in the air and starts to spin
Slowly at first and she can hear the swish as the edge goes
Nisha starts to reach for it but the old man
Gently restrains her hand

“This can hurt you
And I have no wish to explain to your kin
Why I let you hurt yourself.”

“What is it?”

“This is perhaps the most arcane
artifact in the World.”

It is spinning so fast
it now
appears to be a sphere
A liquid golden sphere

Nisha squeals in delight

“What is it?”

“It’s the Truth.”




The sun slants from the left in the deepest cloister
of the
Museum of Arcane Devices
Anaxamander offers Nisha a fish sandwich
She wrinkles her nose
He passes his right hand through the air
To distract her while pulling an apple out of his lunch pack
with his left hand
He then pretends it is majik
She laughs and takes the apple

“Anaxamander is too hard to say
Do you have any other names?”

“I have many names
None of them are easy.”

“How about I call you Mander?”

“How about


“Eat your lunch.”

“OK, Nax
I will call you Nax.”

“You may call me whatever you wish
If it will get you to eat your lunch.”

“I don’t like the Laboratory.
Everything is too high.”
Anaxamander chuckles to himself
It never occurred to him that this might be a problem

She considers
“I’m trying
I’m not trying to mess anything up
I’m trying to understand.”

Anaxamander wipes
an unseen
tear from his weathered eye
He remembers why he is doing this
This is the real dance
The only dance that matters
“Well, young lady
We shall see if we can find you something to stand on.”

“I’m sorry I spilled that flask.”

“Nisha the learning of anything
is always a untidy and cluttered
You must experiment and take time to ponder.
That ‘time’ thing has always been a problem for me
I always want to skip to the end and see how its going to
come out.”

“Me too.”

“The Truth is a circle
Let it turn and it becomes a sphere.
Many are the wonders of this World
and the
worlds beyond
Stare at them
Taste them
finger them
Let them see each other
see which ones cringe in the light
of day.
Do not hurry so little one,
There is time.”

“You gonna eat that pickle?’

“You can have it.”


Lesson of Song

Nisha follows Nax through the Blue Sea labyrinth

She tosses one of the silkies a treat
She thinks he doesn’t see her
The silkie winks

They take a left turn
where they
typically take a right
And she is now in new territory
If she had been versed in Earth Mythology
she would
have recognized the Egyptian murals and columns
But as it is she had never seen the palm fronds
and the
elaborate battle friezes

“Wow . . .”

“You like this Nisha?”

“Very much.”

Anaxamander chuckles to himself
He pushes the eye of a huge hawk
and a door
materializes where there was no door before
Anaxamander enters a room darker than night
Where only the light from the doorway intrudes
Nisha hesitates at the door

“I don’t want to enter this
this dark
portal to — to the inside.”

“I’ll wait.”

“The problem with dark
is that I
have no night vision goggles
They forgot to stick them in my

“I remember a decoder ring I found in a box
years ago
as you might guess.
Still have it somewhere . . .”

“And you still want me to enter?
I can’t see
How do I know what will happen?
I don’t even have to know everything I just want an inkling
Like what color is it in there?
How high are the ceilings?
Are there bats?
Are there walls?
Is there even a floor?”

He remains silent but she can see his hand in the light

You have the most annoying habit of standing perfectly
Nax, I’ve heard its rude to linger in doorways.”

She steps into total darkness

The darkness isn’t bad is it?”

“Do you mean is it evil?”

“I’m afraid of the Dark.”

“The darkness of the summer night
Is never so dark
As the darkness in the hearts of some
This is a gentle darkness
And if you enter further your eyes will adjust
Is that better?”

“Hey!  I can see you.”

“And I can see you
People fear the darkness because they think they can’t see
and so they
But if you can’t trust your eyes
then trust
your ears
Your hands
your tongue
And when all else fails
Trust your heart.”

“Is that a lesson?”

“It’s an observation.”

“What is this room?”

“This is the room of song.
Can you see now?”

I can see colors
You usually can’t see colors in the dark
Its as bright as day in here
Why is the door so bright
Its hurting my eyes.”

“Look this way
See this
What is this?”

“Looks like rice paper.”

He offers the sheet to her and her fingers pass right
through it

“I ripped it
I’m sorry”

“Its song paper
Very delicates
Now just open your hand and don’t try to grasp it.”

He places the flimsy on her upturned hand and it rests there
Her breath blows it away
He places another
And she is careful not to breathe in its direction
He places one in his own hand

“Now what?”  she asks

And Anaxamander starts to rumble deep in his chest
It’s a kind of musical note
Deep and thunderous
He opens his mouth and the note of his song
Fills the walls

To her utter amazement the
begins to drift above his hand
His song begins to convolute itself and the paper dances
She tries it
But her voice is a discord and her paper does not fly
She tries several songs she knows
But nothing works

Then she just listens
Anaxamander is rebreathing
so that his
song is like one continuous note
And as she listens she can see a light in the sound

A thrill creeps up the back of her neck
And without her even trying
The a note comes out of her mouth

An angelic note filled with light and life
Her paper lifts and she feels the interconnection
Between her hand and the paper
the paper
and the song
The song and  . . .
well everything

Her tiny voice takes on tremolo and
And her paper dances well past time for supper


Dance the Stones

Anaxamander blinks in the harsh light
Nisha jitters the way that children have always jittered
when they
are physically overjoyed

When will we get there?”

“We are here little one.”

“But this is just the river bank.
What can we . . . OK I get it
Look at the details.
Can we go swimming?”

“Consider this.”

“It’s a rock.”

“I prefer stone. . .”

“It’s a stone.”

“Then let this stone be your teacher.
As you have no doubt surmised this entire river bank
Is covered with these rounded stones
Some as small as your head
some bigger
than a house.
What can you tell me about theses stones?”

“They’re rounded.
I guess the river has picked them up
and rolled
them around against each other
And that’s why the are kinda smooth.”

Now watch as I dance the stones.”
And without further comment Anaxamander ran up the river
So far that he became a speck then back again.
Nisha is amazed.

“Now you do it.”


“You dance the stones.”

“I’ll fall . . .”

“If you believe you’ll fall
sure enough
you will fall.
I do not believe I will fall
therefore I
do not.”

“But you’re old and if you fall
break something important.”

And that is a risk that any of us must consider
But if you think three stones ahead . . .”

“I’ll fall.”


“You don’t want me to get hurt, do you?”

“No little one, I would never want you to be hurt.”

“Why are we doing this?”

“It’s a lesson on dynamic balance.”

“I don’t want to do this.”


“Moms going to be very angry
if I get
these clothes wet.”


Nisha takes a tentative step onto the first rock
And it wobbles.

“Find the center of gravity in your mind
Before you place your foot on the rock.
Go slowly at first, no need to hurry.”

She takes another step and the rock is stable.
She looks up
Expressions of elation and stark fear
war across
her face
With the lithe movements only a child can move
She passes from one rock to the next

By late in the day
They are blurs moving across the rock bank like water
Her giggle says all there is to say
about the
way life lifts inert matter
In the face of Entropy

Exhausted they stop at the place where they came
Anaxamander can hardly stand

“Hey Nax
I want to try something.”


“Just sit down
This isn’t dangerous.”

She places one stone on top of another
Then another and so on
She stacks the ovaliod stones high as her head
A perfect testament to balance in all things

Anaxamander is so impressed that he can not speak
He just applauds


Lesson of the Silke

Anaxamander searches the Indigo room
His movements becoming more anxious
as he moves
through the Hall of the Mountain King
As he rounds the cloister of Omaron
He use the discipline of mind reach and can not find
the girl’s
“Shethra exu Hector!”
He shouts as his hands weave the dance of summoning
A ghost angle materializes in front of him
“Find Nisha.”

In seconds they are beside the Silkie habitat
And he notices that one of the Silkie males is in human form
Without apology he passes through the barriers
And confronts the young male

“I am your alpha (this is translated from Silkie )
And I am lacking a proper understanding.”

“You are not alpha . . .”

“I am ALPHA!” and Anaxamander evokes the thunder clap

All the silkies jump and the smaller pups hide
Behind their Hindmares.
One of the older males considers
And decides to back down

Nax continues
“What is your name pup?”

“I am no . . .”

“What is your name pup?”

“I am Noreega TuLagetti
Of the Utaslk Pod”

“I am lacking a proper understanding.
Must I nip your ear?”

“Oh no sir alpha
How may I assist you understanding.”

“There is a young woman . . .
All the silkies were jittering
“There is a young woman who often walks beside me
And she is missing.
I want to understand where she has gone.
Assist me!”

One of the elders flumped toward Anaxamander
Performing the appropriate
‘You are alpha’ gestures
“Alpha I am responsible for this pup Noreega TuLagetti.”

“Can you assist my understanding?”

“The pup woman and Noreega TuLagetti
Were frolicking
And he thought it proper to remove his silkie skin
so that he
might look more like humans.
And all was well
I mean who can blame them
They are young and it is Spring.
Unknown by Noreega TuLagetti
or any of
us for that matter
The pup woman slipped on his skin
And swam away . . .”

The sound that Anaxamander made was the most alpha sound
Since God went looking of Adam and Eve
“Find Her!”

Anaxamander falls and became a Dolphin
And with the entire swimming pod of the silkies
They search all the waters in the habitat
Finding her trying to escape through one of the service

Anaxamander returns to human form
She is wild and will not listen
She huddles behind a large rock
“Nisha, its me Nax. You remember Nax.
Now honey you have been in the skin of an animal
And I’m sure that you remember when you put it on.”
She peeks from behind the rock
“Nisha when you wear an animal skin too long
It starts to affect your mind.”

She leaps into the water and is instantly surrounded by the
male silkies
She tries to find a place to flee

“Palealeto LoMeinnototis!”
Anaxamander shouts and she falls asleep
The silkies lift her in the waters so that she won’t drown

Strangely lithe and strong for a man his age
Anaxamander lifts the sleeping girl silkie
And carries her toward the barrier of the habitat
Noreega TuLagetti follows whimpering
Anaxamander turns on him
Somehow the expression of the old man softens
You have endangered one of mine
And yourself.
You must be more careful in the future.”

“May I have my skin?”

“Your skin will not come off in one piece
Unless I am very careful.
I will do what I can.”

“Alpha saves us.”
Noreega TuLagetti chants with deep emotion

The silkie form of Nisha is levitating at shoulder height
In a room is so bright you can’t see at first
The sphere of Truth is buzzing inches from her feet
Anaxamander is studying the ring of Truth
And like a snake his hand snaps out and seizes the hoop
Making a sound not unlike an electric sizzle
It instantly stops in his hand

He stands beside the young girl silkie
You are a lot of trouble
And you have given my old dead heart
So many new ways to break
But if you can hear me
Please remember the fun we’ve had.”

The hoop begins to slide in his hand
In such a way that it is rotating about its central axis
The inscriptions caress the palm of his hand

He holds the circle at her feet so that she is inside
And as he slowly slides it toward her head
The silkie skin peels away
Revealing the girl child Nisha
Sleeping . . .


New Curator of the Museum of Arcane Objects

Nisha enters by the Western door
The Museum is quiet and dark
dusty and
Foreboding and . . .

“Has it been seven years?”  she says
Where are you Nax?”

No answer
She lifts Hannibal’s hatchet
Examines the flask of  Tears of Eve
She walks down a long hall with Pictures on the walls
Through an open air cloister with a fountain in the center
She opens a wall that turns out to be a door
And the inside is so bright
She can’t see at first
As her eyes adjust she can see the hoop of Truth

A young man passes her in the hall
She stops him
“Who are you?’

“I am Noreega TuLagetti, mistress.”

“Do you remember me?”  she asks

“No mam.  I am sorry .
.  .”

“Never mind.
I suppose you’ve never heard of Anaxamander?”

“There is a legend . . .”

“Who is the curator of this place?’

The young man seems flustered
“You are Mistress.
By the way
There is a young boy named Mander Xam
At the front entrance.”

“I’ll go meet him
You fix us some lunch.”

Noreega TuLagetti bows slightly and shuffles off
Nisha turns for toward the front hall
And as she does she catches just the hint of a movement
A shadow moving within a shadow
And she knows he’s there

“Balance in all things old man
Balance in all things . . .”

When you walk on the edge, its best not to run

~ William C. Burns, Jr.

Undulating Geometries of the Human Heart, the Inevitable Compilation of William C. Burns, Jr.

Here There Be Dragons – the Artist Path

the incident beside the brae

you notice that you are staring down the shaft
of an arrow aimed directly at your heart

without a word the Dark Captain lowers the bow
returns the arrow to its quiver
unstrings his bow 
and with a final test of its fatal yew he secures it to his back

with the poise and ease of a thing done often he loosens his ebon leathers 
returns the hold straps to his sgian dearg array
removes the leggings to his pack

in a show of trust he turns and walks to the brae
bends to the water and drinks a long draft
when he stands the waters sparkle as they drip from his short beard

his hands are not large
but they are swift and horribly scarred 
his legs are sturdy and his shoulders erect
(tough he favors the right shoulder
probably an injury)

he sits on a large rock beside the waters
and leans back against the cleft in the bank
he is now invisible to any casual passers

'while it is never my way to tell someone what to do
i would ask that you might consider sitting a spell'

he rummages the pack without breaking his lock on your gaze
produces a bagget of course bread
which he breaks and gently hurls a half at you

its tastes sour but very substantial
you sit on a rock that is half in 
and half out of the water

'i loved a woman once . . .' (dry laugh - no humor in it)
'but i was not worthy of her glance
not worthy of her concern
oh, she wanted to know the warrior ways
and she had no limit to the number of compliments she offered
but her hand was more worthy than mine
and she withheld it'

'i wonder if you have heard the tale of nimue and merlyn?'
he chews and considers
'he loved her more than himself
he taught her all that he knew and more
and when she had taken  . . . everything he had to give
she put him under a rock and left him for dead'

he shifts and his leathers creek 
'people often wondered at his age
wondered how he could master the energies of the unknowable
wondered how he could let a slip of a girl kill him . . .
but he did not die . . . no not dead yet'

clouds obscure the part of the sky that you can see
wind walks the trees
is there a coming storm?

'he crawled from under the rock and took assessment of his life
and he found that while he still loved her
he could not bear to see her again'

the waters are becoming restless
'he walked away
left the court and his friends to her tender mercies 
and we all know how that went . . . don't we?'

he becomes harder to see in the dusk of gathering clouds
'he walked the world . . . a vacation of sorts - yes, a vacation
he consorted with dragons for a time, a long time
and he became a physician, a poet, an engineer and a warrior'

'he learned all kinds of tricks and ways
spent time beyond the seas
and danced several dramas to keep himself entertained'

you do not notice the chill of the unyielding rock beneath you
you no longer notice the approaching storm
all you can see are his glowing cobalt eyes in the darkness

he lifts his hand and everything becomes silent
he takes a bite of the loaf and chews it
he laughs and it is the laugh that fills the dragon

he lowers his hand 
and the sky is clear
the sun is warm
and the weather clement

'and so my maid Marion
you question is answered
i hope to your satisfaction'

he smiles and wonder is returned to the vale
he extends his hand to you

Reflection and Refraction

i am a reflection of the Universe
and as with any mirror i cannot reflect on myself
without getting that crazy infinity effect
and so i can do nothing but indicate where my horizon lies
a dance that implies a center
a chance that decided to take itself
a glance down a twisty misty toiling street
   to see if its safe to cross
i am a reflection of the Universe
and true to form of fractured symmetry
   i am cracked but not shattered

i was a monument once
a granite depiction of a modern dream
   with a stone heart that could not beat
stone cold hands that no one wanted to touch
granite feet that could not dance
i was with . . . no real purpose
i was everything i was to be
   and it was not enough

now i am a wind sock of color and silk
strangely subtle i wind-swim a twilight of Dawn
i have become a pattern in the looking glass
i coalesce and swirl
   cavort and disappear
undulate in the manner of reeds in the current
under a velvet canopy of stars i desire twisting
    i dance the dark waters
    liquid in the reflected fishing lights
i am wavering window lights in a soft lava light land

i have been numbered but I walk the pathways beyond number
i have been catalogued but never cross referenced
i have been a dragon
   a phoenix
     a flying unicorn
i have been a silent moment in a silent house
   with a big picture window
beyond which the sky turns on its axle
   twilight of the Dawn coming soft and unstoppable

i have been a teacher of artifice
a speaker for the dead
a level 11 guardian warrior
and a casualty of the psi wars

in short
i am nothing more than a refraction of the Universe
and in a weird and wonderful fashion
   nothing less

Raven and the Keeper


Raven pulled a false eye from beneath her cloak and set it to hover in the air, just above her left shoulder. “A little light, if you please,” she enjoined. The illusion of light flicked into existence, illuminating the thick, coiling mists through which she moved. It was a grey, ghostly light, offering no warmth and little comfort.

Raven pulled a map from her cloak and considered. Moving so that the pounding surf covered the sound of its passage, the servoanimus drew closer to the woman in the black cape. Suddenly, she disappeared. It leaped to the place where she had been. Extending all of its sense pods, it sniffed the sand, listened to the wind, looked for footprints, to no avail. Screaming in frustration, the servo searched in ever widening circle.

An outcrop of basalt, one of many on the beach, resolved itself into a cloaked woman. In the course of time the servo led her to the lower passages of the citadel of the High Keeper.

Raven explored the passages and rooms, finding at last a brightly lit chamber, unlike any of the others. Everywhere there were rippling lights and the gentle thruming of vast machinery. In the center a single being, possibly female, floated just above a dais. It seemed not to notice her.

“Forgive me, your Eminence, but I have come on a errand

of some small importance.” “Isn’t it beautiful?” The voice came from everywhere at once and no where in particular. Raven continued addressing the figure on the dais.

“Of what are we speaking, exactly?”

“Why, this, our world. I hold it all here in perfect stasis, perfect symmetry. Balance is maintained.” “About that . . .” Raven began. “Day on one side, night on the other, the weather is constant, everything held in place, immutable, eternal.”

“Well, perhaps not everyone is totally delighted the status quo.”

There was a shrieking and the chamber quaked. “What?!”

“Both Dayside and Nightside are uninhabitable . . .”

“What is that to me?”

“A little variation . . .”

“Chaos! Insanity! Madness! . . .”

Incognito, Raven waited. In time the Keeper calmed. “Your Eminence?”

“Show yourself!”

“And be destroyed?” There was a long silence.

“Very well, you are safe for the moment, show yourself.” control panel morphed into a woman in a black cape.

“I have been very inconsiderate,” Raven said moving toward the dais. “I can see that you have devoted a great deal of yourself to your work. Will you please show me more?”


“Show me how you hold the stars constant. How you keep the oceans in their place. I am very interested.”

“When first you came, you did not speak such.”

“That was before. Now I have come to appreciate the marvelous symmetry of your work and I want to see more.”

The Keeper considered, then started. “This world was not always such. There was Chaos upon the land. Over the course of billions of years the proper control machinery was built . . .” As the Keeper spoke, images flicked in the air of the chamber. Raven could see that theirs had truly been a hostile planet. She also saw that destroying the Keeper would end all life on the planet. At length the history was unfolded.

“My lady,” Raven said, “How is it that you monitor the current state of our world?”

“Through my eyes.”

“Forgive me, a simple organic creature. I do not see your eyes.”

“They are here.” Two vast panels flickered into life and Raven could see vistas of their planet. The Keeper went on to explain the pains she took to keep everything in perfect balance. Raven slid the eye from her pocket, and whispered to it.

“My lady! The sun, it moves!”

“Leave me!”

“But my lady . . .”

“Leave now, I have not the time.”

Raven, chuckling to herself, looked across sand, the ocean to the rising sun. The hidden eye she had planted would keep the vistas changing just enough. As long as the Keeper believed her eyes, night would follow day, spring would follow winter, and winter follow fall and so on. Not Chaos, but a new kind of balance.

Chygon and the Angel ~ What Is In A Name

When the flame of the volcano is spent
The hole left. . . 
The shaft holds the memory of fire 
The mountain born of the rising 
Becomes hollow – except for the memories

Some memories of destruction 
Some memories of forces that are no rightly understood
Mostly dark memories in the form of dark creatures

At the bottom of the passage to the light
Her tiny voice says, “I am named Weary.  Tis a sad name.”
The dragon turns away
“Please gentle beast, what is it that troubles you?”
The dragon grumbles a sigh
“If it please you tell me. . .”
“Do you remember the sky?”

She is silent
“Lady, do you remember. . .?”
“Dragon, what would heal you?”
“My hurt is self inflicted, but yours was bought at a cost.”
She suppresses a sob
The other shadows cluster and shuffle in ignorance

At the bottom of the shaft
Chygon Leatherwing leans back, considers
And looks to the sky
All other creatures follow his gaze
Most quickly look away
In that they hate the Light

None expect the sound eruption
As his roar permeates the fabric of the living rock
And all fall back as he leaps toward the sky

Lifting by sheer force of will
He ascends the volcanic chute 

Most fall back
But one of the guardian demons
Still at a distance 

Chygon calls
"I know you not nor have a name by which to call you
But stand aside or you will not like what happens next"

The demon issues smoke
Twin lasers cut through it
The demon causes the stones to fall
Rock meets titanium scale and diamond skeleton
Rock loses

The demon calls out
"Cease!  Your passage up this shaft will let in the light.
I will never allow light here"
Closer now
1. The dragon says , "Impede me at your peril"

The dragon has not hesitated
The demon disappears a microsecond before the dragon reaches it

Chygon is singing a song
A lost song filled with lost chords
It is part of his ascent

The far lip of the volcano 
Whips by and he is above the earth
Still ascending

Then the sun strikes him in the full
And he opens his wings to their fullest

Now as it turns out
The underside of a rainbow dragon's wing
Can be very reflective

And holding himself above the world
By force of will he
Gathers the full spectrums of Light
	on the undersides of his wings
He gathers the low thudding infrareds
All the colors of the rainbow
Gathers the saber toothed ultraviolets
Gathers frequencies that can not be named
And squeezes them into a coherent beam

The sizzling beam shoots straight 
As only light can travel straight
Piercing the gloom of the pit

The light column strikes the bottom of the abyss 
Scattering the dark minion 
Save one

The bent figure of a fallen angel

This tiny phoenix
Lifting from the Depths . .  .
She meets him above the world
Her wings restored to splendor 

“Clearly you are not Weary.”
She laughs 
Her breath makes clouds 
“What is my name then?”

Chygon considers 
Them closes his wings and plummets like a stone

She follows him the way creatures who can not die fly
He extends on the tips of his wings 
Rolls and vectors the sea  

Somewhere beyond the desert
Somewhere far from the darkness
He opens his wings and glides to the gentle turf
Of a green-slade meadow aritious with spring flowers

“Properly pronounced
Your name is L'ianə, queen of the Meadow.”

And at hearing her name properly said
All the shadows fell from her shoulders
And she laughs as though laughing for the very first time

The Rukesayer and the Dragon Path

The Traveller 

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
    of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
    in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Traveller 
    Rukesyaer ~ teller of Tales

She follows him
    but she doesn't like this Dark Path
Doesn't like the Wind
Doesn't like the Sky

But if she tarries 
Drags her feet
The Traveller might leave her
And somehow that is worse . . .

Home  . . . its just a memory to her now
And . . . she's no baby . . .
Well . . .

We shall walk the Dragon Path 
he told her
Now she walks the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
    of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
    in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Rukesayer 
    teller of Tales

She grew up a 
Healer of the ill and the sad
But there were so many
And they just kept coming
Then he appeared
    like a teacher
        like a lover
And without asking
He opened the East gate and 
let her follow on the Dragon Path

She doesn't like this Dark Path
Doesn't like the Wind
Doesn't like the Sky

But if she lingers
Drags her feet
The Traveller might leave her
And somehow that is worse . . .

He hasn't spoken
    and yet she knows his thoughts
Hasn't touched her
    and yet he knows her heart
But by the fire light his eyes danced
As he spoke the way to the Far Places
Where as a hero she'd stand
This the Path
Where Beauty met the Beast
A Path ruled Magic
Her soul longs for a future 
Down the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
    of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
    in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Traveler 
    teller of Tales

Colors in Darkness

There is a color . . .
I mean the path is dark
But she sees a color . . .

A phosphorescence  . . .
In the leaves . . .
Maybe it was always there
And her eyes have started to adjust
Maybe he is calling this into existence . . . 
No somehow that isn't right
She has always seen this
But now it getting brighter

And the sound
She feels . . . hears . . . knows
This . . .
     this vibration
A gentle hum thrum
of harmonies not quite heard
But  . . . I don't know
somehow connected
She has always heard this
But now its getting . . . not louder

She knows the Dragon Path
As much by feel
    as by sight
And the Traveller . . .
    he glows
A focus of star-light and forest-song

And she laughs almost hysterically
Because she sees her own hands
    Glowing . . . 

Balance is Retained

The Rukesayer and the Tyro
Pass for a forever time
Walking a tunnel of Song Luminescence 
Many things and creatures have come 
to the limits of the Light
But no closer

Now somehow beyond 
the temporary concept of Time
They come to a place 
not unlike a clearing in the Forests
She reaches using the Touch-Far
and feels the circularity
the volume of the space

The Rukesayer
    rummages through his backpack
And pulls out a foxfire globe 
He lifts it to a place several man-lengths 
above the forest floor
It hovers there
He smiles
His eyes the blue of a cyan sky
He has brought her this far
She'll have to make it the rest of the way

She pulls a dog-eared copy of Rilke's 
'Book of Hours' from her memory
Becoming fully manifest in Space 
Flips through the pages:
     "Now the hour bows down, it touches me, throbs
      metallic, lucid and bold..."
(He never fails her)

She reaches out... looks directly 
into the shining eyes of the Traveller
And touches the incandescent vibe

The notes come alive...
A shower of sparks
   at first the merest whisper
She sings a tone poem
He answers
A deep and throaty hum
   and the night moves . . .

With gathering force
Her eyes wild
She speaks many prophesies
Sometimes shouting
sometimes whispering
Always compelling
He answered without and within words
Within the hum
the forest has taken on
   an electric blue haze
Snakes of heat lighting coursed
the bellies of the thin clouds
The spaces between the trees resonates
with strange electricity
And the night moves toward . . .

Life begins and ends a thousand times
in the night
Forces that are not rightly understood
are released and contained
in the pale light
Great waves
of resonate chord build and crest
Each cadence gathering a greater voice
Each beat building into the other
Quaking the Earth
Shaking the Sky
And yet within it all
Balance is retained
Chaos in enveloped
Order encompassed
Anima and Amimus
The eye of one
within the other
In one vast crashing Crescendo
Everything becomes One thing
Thunder echoes across the Land
And the night moves toward Dawn

The East
At first dim and distant
Progressing to a gentle azure
close and comfortable

Her smile as soft
and unstoppable as the Rising Sun
His eye
Clear as the Sky