—
The clouds are purple, dyed by the sea, as I hunt.
There is music here, the music of feather and thread and tendon
You can dance a wild dance, a sickened ballerina
More graceful than the cool drip of water out of the Lethe
Into an ear with a lover’s softness as a blessed cure for remembering
The music drives me forward, emblazoned in gold, as I seek.
The senses are blinded here, covered with muzzy darkness
At once close and yet empty
The yawning of an animal scrabbling through the night
So I scuttle through skies on wings worn ragged by time
The furrow in my brow as tilled earth
Lying still on dirt, on down, on coiled metal and thin fabric
As jewel-coloured dreams flee before me on paws of shadow and I travel further and further from sleep
By Angel Blue
