Our books gathered us, called us each, Their curled joy-worn pages dancing With flickering orange yellow light at the Communal fire. "We are here." They knit Woolen tales of men, of women, of fierce Eternal battles, gods, the triumph of Old words, spells and incantations to salve Souls broken into these dangling dense Narratives. There on …
She
She... ...gathered herself into the everything since before there was a thing to call time, shafts of blue-red light, carrying the motes on which my auburn love floats. She... ...was the ancient kiln built in a browned, weathered heart-home into which I fed the dreamstuff from which lives grow, the firstfallen fruits of Fate's first …