the river Eyn, between outstretched hands
flows to lands farther than
ear has heard or eyes have searched
and they say the land twists and shifts
at her end
'til one is sailing up again

She flows like drowsy eyes in midafternoon daze
languidly stretching back and forth before the haze
the foggy mists that sit atop her skin smooth surface
shade from daylight
her sailors sleeping to sail the moonlight

I stood atop my little ship
to see the faces of passers-by
who watch the ships from shoreside

On each face I looked so long
but always obscured was the evening sun
what tree or branch, or mist or shade
I cannot see what faces made

Dreary drowsy eyes begin to close
she will close them, Eyn
so I might sail the moonlight
midnight's rays of clear and blue
and bathe pensive in cerulean hue.

I follow the winding, the way beyond the farthest places
between trees knotted menacing with darkened faces
under mossy roots that twist and trip with a mischievous cackle
over heights and falls that beckon death's clanking shackle
and if you fall in, lose your precious breath
to tree limbs tangled scratching at vulnerable flesh.

A green roof above and green floor below
but my eyes look ahead, to where the silver meadows did grow
Remorse remembers all that passed before the eye
burnt of fire forgotten and ash was strewn across the sky
and now only memory does remain
of silver meadows and the golden rain.

This land is dampened with the morning dew
that daren't melt but for the light of moon
where mossy things are stowed in sunken places
and beautiful wonders lay behind rock faces,
I know the way, but do not lightly follow
As sunset brings forth demons beyond tomorrow.

I wish to find her: the lady silk
Her hands weaving threads of fates who twist and separate
her threads she brought from those older places past
Where nascent fauns with youthful voices fastly gleam and chatter
and deftly danced to delights in the silver meadows
When all was false and truth was shaded
all liars happily in reflections reflected
pale faces feinted in humorous deception
and all charismatic affectations were familiar expression.
singing songs of passing pleasures in strange dialect
All was serene was silver mirrors reflecting
save the flow of golden liquid cool and still
which seeped from sky to hill and then chalice filled.

I walk to see the lady
who has one eye black and one eye white
and carries a silver knife which- in moonlight flashes bright.
I will wearily watch for it's flashing tomorrow night,
for she doesn't know it, but I was also born of moon's pale light.

Enter forest green and black
wherein treetops shade pathways leading back
the wind malevolent grins with mirthful eyes
a playful ill-will as cats before their mice.

It is not the fear of bitter cold
nor of darkness stories old
it is something moving in these aged trees
that brings shivers down to-- What trav'lers these?

Who walk with downcast eyes below the hidden sky
and bowing step forth unto demise.

When moon does show it's drowsy eye
and once red is blue as the night
what lurks between boughs of green and gold
has blackened heart from lies once told
saunters 'fore the wooden place
where young men end their race.

What trav'lers these who call before the fight
They- with no weapon- shout with might
To live and die in mighty storm
and one day take on heaven's form

The feared one raises head and claws
perching soundless to cause their painful fall
"Let me hear your ending call, that god or devil
may not forsake you all."

"We have no gods nor demons, no angels nor devils for us to call
for we are men of faithless earthly hall
who come to bear the earthly yoke
of life short lived and death's unrighteous stroke;"

"we walk to death and nothing after
as is custom of those with little faith
hear our cry oh merciful wraith
that we might pass under your yellow eye
as those who live and ask nought but time from life
that we may eat and drink our fill of what might be had
and drunken die before mad-ness take
and for other lives and worlds we save our fate
and we praise heavens and gods contrived in faithful tirade!"

Scrutinizing these travelers with delicate stare
the wraith had never seen such men that would enter the forest lair
With a laugh he let them pass
gods be with them and send them fast.

This last humor bore them along
to lands and drinks where their song is still sung
and the lives they lived were none too long.

In such short delay
The dewdrops of that awaited day
May appear awhile with hurried breath
for soon again they meet their death
They sway and shudder like ringing bells
Sound their pleasant tones through field and dell

Lay thy love in glossy meadow
And her eyes may drift from other shores
She may long be present here
and lands far away may be memories mere

but take this solemn note
That when dewdrops cease to ring their chimes
And breathe in shudders at their release
Cold wind will carry them far away
Love will follow- on that despairing day

And with the haste that it began
The cool ground will be cold again
Sullen desolation lures the bitter cold
Shimmering stars have ceased their glowing
As they look down with eyes of sorrow
To take away on silent tear
All that passed before me here

Those minutes hours and seconds
ticking away into the ether of my mind
A canon through the fog
An anchor in the depths.
Clarity and melody and anchorage
In dissonant defiance of the foggy nothingness

The great depth of water
The rippled reflecting pool of the soul

Should time not be measured
in the breaths of air into the chest
Or footsteps down the shaded path
Or yet by the yellowing of pages on the bookshelves
petals of the flowers of recorded time

Time is not in the whirring of gears and moving of hands
It is a slow passing away
A stretching forward and backward
Shaded in fog
The formless mass bends and shifts
Like a warm undulating current

All of this I observe as I sink slowly into the depth
Falling softly like a leaf
and I release my final breath.

Something stirs in thicket dark
where tangled reaching limbs of trees are stark
against sinking sunlight bleeding red
and hasten thee quickly off to bed.

There lays a dove with eyes that weep
and voice that sings it's mourning air
of loves and sunlight fading fair
of winter's coming cold in evening fright
and all once green turned deathly white:

"Oh these passing days of little sleep
of autumn's chills from my resting keep
unceasing tension building still
between firey limbs and the snowy hill
and my heart with ice shall surely fill."

Something stirs as numbing ache
Clawing she falls na’er to wake
A vengeful hiss, it slithers out
Signifies the calf’s mistake

Fangs from which the poison drips
eyes black and cut like arrow’s tip
Regards the cow it’s hollowed place
Sees mind through mind’s eye
And from mind discerns its lie

For all things are cows with both within
Often poisons slowly seep, or teeth will quickly sink
With mistake the calf will die, what some call sin
the snake calls mistake, with venomous grin

What are we to say to this?
Half serpent half calf- am I to choose?
Snakes will leer the vengeful wrath
And calf to mother, looks for the stamping feet

What may be, it is then
If serpent strike first
Then venom is righteous and just
And if cow succeed
Then hoof has stamped in moral deed

7-9-18