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.