All spells should be cast
On the voices of women.
This begins in that moment
After the universe should have narrowed to a single shaft of light,
Focused completely on the second of realization –
But didn’t.
How do you say what you meant to,
In the face of that?
I know this place,
I’ve been here so many times,
This is the place where songs are made,
This is the creation place,
Where the intangible is born.
In the vicinity of this,
How do my words still seem so stilted?
Inadequacy,
A vice of man,
Only an excuse.
The moment when she knows
That this scene is real,
That each breath they draw
Is a moment in time,
She sees his hand,
Holding the pen still against the page,
And sunlight pours over it,
And over his rolled up shirt cuff,
And the moment is frozen –
And then the light shifts,
Or she does,
And the moment passes.
But after that everything she says,
Everything he says,
Matters more,
It could be the beginning of the end.
Why can’t I get out of this loop?
I remember a sea coast in storm,
Why not there instead?
But this story should take place in green,
In a place where epics sleep,
And there are gems and skeletons out of sight,
The place where stone rises from the ground
Like the unmoving fingers
Of a long forgotten goddess.
There is a place in the crux of memory
Where all fairy tales return,
Where they are no longer toothless,
Where owl woman stands grimly.
The woman of the sea made herself,
Her bones from coral,
Her skin from sand,
Her hair from the sunlight on the waves,
Her clothes from seaweed and sea foam,
Her fisherman said to her later,
I don’t belong here, I miss my home,
So she returned his words
And returned to the dream place
At the melting edge of sunrise.
Into that silence of silences that is portent
Falls decision,
Shaken loose when the earth wobbled on it’s axis.
