Midst a forest of harps,
the primordial bard rouses the chords
which woke the first of man,
curling my beard with warm enchanted fingers.
Fingers that plucked the light of Lyra,
conducted campfires of
olden drifters and seers,
lifted autumn's leaves into
the annual dusky blush .
The evening caress scatters
Sahara sand and sea salt
within the fiery blooming brush.
A crackling twist sparks
a synapse in the shadows,
a terrestrial muse speaks softly,
and leaves the world humming.