52.02, -4.18
Millennial agreement hangs upon the nail of the sky; Eastering marked thereby.
Transcript created, weald cut, abraded.
Verses eight; Chapters three.
Marked in heat.
Wild eye treads wide the Dragon char of mountainside.
Ferns and bracken, winberries and Bilberries. Mushroom, Ash, Rowan.
There our meeting and there our greeting.
Drown in green and wrapped in silver, bough kept and stream fed.
Reciprocal in recognition.
Me looking up; You curling round.
Did I fix you in referent as Bradbury knows?
Or were you always just waiting for my face to show?
Your form from my feeling that curiously leading, flies on down the threads that run deep my head.
Pens, pencils, pixels; films, books and chords,
Meanings on meanings, the tapestries forged, such a world of vibration and echoing cause.
Where this leads to that which means this and that fact and, your arms draped on mine.
I feel wings in my spine.
Sketchy little wings.
Spindly little things.
Legs and arms entwined about and softly silver sings.
Invited, or not? My fault? Maybe lot.
Seems I'm rented I guess, an agreement at best.
A constant companion; sketch yet un-fleshed, lifts through the veil at a simple request,
To our meeting place.
Our greeting place.
Bough kept and stream fed.
Gateway of nine, and kenning of tines.
Bough kept and stream fed.
A greeting and a seeking place.
Bough kept.
Stream fed.
Silver threads.
Silver led.
