I close my eyes and plunge
Into the Weave.
I listen to the wind rustling through the leaves,
The water ripples. Shelves of sea glass rattle and ship sail
Billow, the surf surges and recedes.
The ocean catches and pushes me
past witches and wardrobes, lions and kings,
Past wizards and wands and owls and rings.
I plop onto a tree stump like a water drop.
The day filters down through trees into an emerald
Cathedral, the smell of dirt for incense, a lute singing in the
Distance— a hunting bugle blares.
I reach for a knob in a trunk, lay palm on rough bark door,
turn
and stumble onto wooden floorboards. Onto
forgotten clocks in antique shops,
brass hands and smooth faces counting tik-tock.
Silence. Tik-tock. Like the snip of fate’s scissors.
Tik-tock. Like a key in a lock.
Bump-bump. My heart pounding in my ears.
The floor gives. I drop
Into the thrum of a drumbeat as feet hit soil.
Saris whirling, beads glittering, bangles flashing and
The dancers’ skirts swirl, circles in circles
And swallow me whole.
Enveloped in darkness, the rhythms cease.
Rough fabric brushes my cheek.
I hear guffaws and laughter and nudge the curtain aside
From where I was hiding, and I listen to adventures
told over warm bowls of stew and
Watch suspicious shadows in a low tavern room.
A plate crashes to the floor. I blink.
Swords clash along a moor.
Sun glares in my eyes, glancing off blades.
The scream of battle bounces off mountains’ jagged range.
In the daze, an arrow winks at me from the air.
I pitch, fists clenched in horse’s hair, but tumble from
The mighty steed
Right back into my chair.
I jolt, eyelids flying open, and landing on my obscene
fingerprint-food smudged computer screen.
I sigh, readjust, take a sip of my tea,
And trace the thread I’ve been chasing since I could hold
Words in my mouth
Somewhere between the warp and the weft
I find the story that I had left.
And words weave into the whimsy
That I am not, but that chases me.