In perfect solitude,never alone,
an Isle whole, amidst the dreams undone.
A greying form set deep in evening wood,
practices stilling time In firey blood
Beyond my home somehow an oddity,
to those who fear all incongruity.
So tangible where their allegiance lies,
their fear finds no reflection in my eyes.
Almost too vivid, as if I might burn,
the eyes or hearts that dared to look too long.
Touched by the wolf and heron’s majesty,
the rainbows arc, aurora’s mystic light,
these are the things that set my spirit free,
Joining their fire to bring my eyes alight.*
This old owl’s imbued, illumined grace,
whose lighted eyes know even darkness’ face,
tracing the beauty in all things they see,
the trail of laughing immortality.
Resting on this hill above the field,
I wait to see what way lightning will take.
And having learned that I am dreaming still,
await wakening’s promise to fulfill.