Wind Song

Wind Song

Caught a’fall through cobwebbed memory,

balance calm within storm,

echoed enchantment.

Joined merriment of dancers,

glide of movement

choreographic poetry,

mindful

poignant whispering of song

wyrding motion,

a chance to beatifically play

where love is a symphony

from which breath expands

each to each,

in brief season.

In the wind

stories, blow, whirl,

wisp, purring gentle, insistent, strong,

going wide, long, dipping below.

A galaxy of swirling lights

blinks bright, dark, invisible for a slow

millennium or so;

only seen outlined in night minds

obstructed by veil, by shadow, by

"No, that can't be real."

Until softly swaying melody

caught still in some fantastic sirocco

casts about for local color,

adoring djinn bleating for succor.

The field dances

hungrily with wind, with wild.

In the eye of eternity, wise

as any child, as any wizard

myth could conceive,

This One, This Master of

enchantments (believe, my kin,

believe) takes fluid stand.

Takes true command.

Raises eyes, mind, arms

to conduct transcendent music.

Sky and ground converge

lightly, marry grace and supplication,

make merry conversation,

soothe wild beasts from

silent space with dervish charm.

The few picked to observe,

learn to carry on these tales,

loose from sobriety.

Enthralled by call of magic,

work a new reality.

Ride high on dragon scales,

spirits entranced.