In the distance, there were the voices of children
She kept to the darkness, she appeared to be asleep.
Distances and days existed in and of themselves,
they all had a memoir
moths sprang from the sheets and rose to tangle the sky, to become
prisms of moonlight,
a pirouetting luster, an illumination on the air like an arenaceous film
somewhere, a raven calls.
She sighs to the music of the desert at dawn, and
black half moons
Her reality was that of everything on the half remembered side of existence.
The rivers were grey, the sky was grey, indistinguishable from each other,
she had not recognized the warnings in time.
In her dreams the Ancient One, old as she is, the Spider instructed her,
weaving dreams unto dreams
into a massive electrostatic discharge between the clouds and the surface of the Earth,
and shapes in the form of burning glass into dark stone.
There was only the dark eternity in which Nothing was,
keening loss of symbol, loss of ceremony…Unknown
The Unknown is the largest part of the Universe
the Dark, ebbing flow like a Breath
void of light, blinding
the still, vacant, Eye
In dreams, in dreams, in dreams
In the distance, there were the voices of children.