Whisper Touch

I read your words
and whisper your incantations under my breath
Atoms of your essence ionize
and your image flickers at arm’s length

I conjure the spheres of yesterday
and with trembling hands
I whisper touch your face
your shoulder

The smell of you
still clings to my fiber
Your presence
still sends shivers down my spine

The embers of memory still smolder here
in this inner room
where I keep the shred of your shadow

Could I bear exorcising your echoes
from my hallways
Can I ever be free of you
with all these fragments of you
tucked away in every corner

I wonder if I saw you again
If my heart would burst

Young Wizard

That’s how I found him. Barely more than a lad by the length and cut of his beard.
He had the kind of armour that integrates one into the landscape. Armour the colour of the broken granite and sand in that dry and desert place.
He wasn’t moving. In fact, at first I thought him addled or perchance enchanted. His eyes transfixed by an arcane object floating just above his left palm.
His right hand frozen mid-gesture, as though he couldn’t believe he’d actually conjured the sigilia runes flickering all around his left hand, pale blue in the silent desert air. True-Life equations orbiting the object hovering over his left hand.
Sometimes the object was cube, sometimes a tetrahedron, a dodecahedron. . . I counted 15 different sacred geometric shapes.
Never have I seen anything like it.

the Incident in the Orchard

Gentle creature
so pale in the moonlight
How come you to this place?

Shattered crystal butterfly
leaning against a peach tree in bloom

A statue awash in lingering lunar light
Fair alabaster hand aglow

Lady of the Land of Light
walking in Darkness

Gentle one
Let me tell you a story
Of a crazed and blind angel

A creature of exquisite face
and brilliant energies

A beautiful Fiend

An unknowing creature
living in a murderous land . . .

21st Centry Wizard Credo

Magic is nothing more
and nothing less than an artful language
used by the right mind
to understand
anticipate
and to some extent control the ‘Verse

Logic is nothing more
and nothing less than a scientific language
used by the left mind
to understand
anticipate
and to some extent control the ‘Verse

Humans tend to grow proficient in the use of one and not the other
Its just easier that way
The artists, dancers, musicians create things of wondrous beauty and soul
but they seldom delight in algebra, electrical circuitry or binary programming
The programmers, technicians, logicians
create marvels of technology and science
but they seldom relinquish their hearts to love or poetry

The wizard’s path is a bit more difficult
They must be proficient in mathematics, technology and music
Must be proficient in dance, biology and love
Must be proficient in husbandry, agriculture and military martial arts

The practitioner must have a strong moral compass
lest they become lost in the fogs
Must protect that which is precious
Must be willing to walk the spine of the night
Willing to walk through the hole in the zero
Willing to walk in both darkness and light
Walk across the river while leaning into the current

And in all things remember this
by the time you are wise enough to change the weather
you will no longer want or need to

A Small and Precious Gift

They told me not to go into that room

Back then

if the house was big enough

they would nail the door shut

rather than fix the floor

Took me a few hours to pry out enough nails

The door yielded to my persistence

Passing judgment on my effort

in a voice of rust twisted on steel

Sweltry and funky

A smell I’ve never held before or since

A palatable silence

The discomfort of room

My intrusion, my invasion

Was less than welcome

I stood in the same silence my cousins had always fled

I refused to. . . what?

Beyond cracked windows

the sun fell through the horizon in crimson robes

Lightning flicked in distant thunderheads

and the wind pushed against the walls

I stood in a silence

my heart still wild after hours of dust

The house shifted as it cooled

Somewhere a door slammed shut or maybe open

and something skittered in the walls

A star crusted quarter moon

poured through the eastern window

Fearing the coming night, I stood. . .

And something I could almost name became a nimbus

Something I could almost touch brushed me soft as shadows

Something I could almost hear. . .

Her face

not lined as it was in life

Her hands

that bathed my head when i was struck with fever

Her voice. . . dear sweet God, her voice

“Why are you here little Bright Eyes?”

“oh. . .”

“You were never one to mince words

Out with it boy.”

“Are the Old Ways dead?
And I swear she almost laughed

“Bright Eyes, how can you ask such a thing?”

“I am not sure I can feel the Magic any longer.”

“Such as it has always been

Such as it always shall be.

You have grown strong and tall.

I remember the way you played with kittens,

You were always such a small and precious gift. . .”

She sighed then smiled light back into the world

“The blood in your veins is the Magic I have passed to you.

The tilt of the sky and the riverbeds of the wind,

even the fire that runs the conduits of your machines,

these and more have been given to you.”

I wept

“Dear one

the Past touches the Future in the place where you stand.

But the choice of looking-glass mesmers

or the journeys on the Pathways-Beyond-Number. . .

These choices are your legacy as well.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too little Bright Eyes.

I miss you so, but I have to get back to your Grandfather.”

And she was gone

T’Alçae ElFaken and the Lady of the Crimson Desire

T’Alçae ElFaken draws a circle around the Fire dancing
Careful to faithfully render the twilight dividing line
Between the fire’s light and the Night that sucks it away

Higher wizards might use enchanted staffs or talent devices
To inscribe the shielding circle
But T’Alçae uses a common stick from the forest
And achieves a acumen far above his station
Achieves the highest protection
Achieves a Circle of Ages

“Fair Salamander
Dear Lady of the Crimson Dance
An admirer seeks a knowing. . .”

The hues of the quick flickering Dance sputter and hiss
The pop and crackle of the Undulation become a staccato

“Fair Lady I offer sustenance.”
And the prepared measures are cast in the proper fashion
Billions of tiny spark angels become the comely curves
Of a Lady both dark and light
A Lady of Fire

T’Alçae holds a proper silence
Awaiting her pleasure before speaking
And this pleases her as she has not been pleased in years
She considers the young warrior wizard

A zephyr whisper
Softer than the vampire feathers known as snowflakes
A voice so soft and subtle
Asks:
“You are not entirely unpleasing to me
And I would know your name. . . “

“Fair One I ask to know the proper manner to address you.”

“Oh a gentleman. . .
A gentleman would not ask a Lady to reveal her secrets
But he would never be so rude as to refuse his name to her.”

“I am T’Alçae ElFaken.”
And he is wisely silent, offering none of his titles of honors

The Lady smiles

The sky above the circle tips the balancing point
Spilling over the spine of the night
And everything slides toward Dawn

“Speak your question gentle Wizard.”

“I seek an understanding of the mad magic known as Love. . .”
She is laughing, a not entirely pleasant sound
“Lady of Heat and Passion. . . “
Now her cackling has become embarrassing
He is silent

“Oh child of Fear and Flesh
Serve me another portion.”
Flask – Floom – Chortle and Cavort
“Silly mortal
Love is the only divine magic you ephemerals may know.”
She is growing into a fountain of spark salmon
Her voice is quick and relentless
“Love. . .?
You ask of Love?
Look Kid you have been respectful
And I have no taste for your flesh
So I’m gonna grant your request.”

“Love is the weirdest magic of all
My sister obeys no laws
She will not be conjured or abided
Sacrifice is the coin of Her Realm
And all who come to know her caress
Find Love to be the shortest distance
Between wherever you are
And total madness.”

A whoosh and a whom
T’Alçae shields his eyes
And she is gone

He stands
Still quivering
When comes the Dawn