I dreamt
one night
of a deep blue wood
whose canopy
revealed little
beyond its keep.

Eyes forward
and around
an orange glow
from the ground
found deciduous
silhouettes
in its hold.

The air stood still
content
in its quietude
the sovereignty  
within silence
observed.

I have sensed this place
many times before
but never
have I
been shown
the hallowed grove
where each chapter
is kept
the preservation
of
my script.

This arcane wood
Has been waiting
for me
Preparing
the author’s chair
to be this close
as close in
as can be
and let pen
and page
finally speak.