Cimmerian clouds cover Sin From world below. Rumbling earth heralds passing Guldfaxe. Earth's fecund smells open from pounding rain now spent; Old begats new. As a spear, I plunge into that waiting Nightscape, Tapping along once Snow packed paths now shorn low, flanked by saluting clover and chicory. My eyes, ever widening, Hold the sparking Dreamforge, casting forth dying earths with tales Now told. The hammer rises, darkness falls; As Borges, I continue alone this hidden wending path. The smell of oleander and honeysuckle brush across my cheek; A warning that, while bound, she ensorcells me. I hear her hands move, Braiding grass and vine For next day's yarn. She labors to survive, And in wet exhalation births a world. That spittle, a flash Before my wide dark eye. A thousand thousand worlds rise and fall through darkened scape of summer's midnight dream. Jealous, this world flares across the sky, rolling… rustling, as the great serpent wriths, shedding skin, eating anew flowers carried for Enkidu. Once more a rumble. I look back towards shelter, but night shades what once was. There is no shelter in these waning days. Best to twist in on myself and climb through the eye to find the calm of lightning bugs and fireflies.