there was a need for wide open space and visible breath.
the swamps were calling.
i answered the call with neglected camera
and hopes of messenger birds.
there were none except for crows.
there is something un-nameable
and ancient awakening within.
it seeks to slowly rise
and wave with willows
on nightfall's breeze.
it is the witch,
the oncoming crone.
it is the bitter taste of knowledge found
in the depths and heights of letting go
of foundations, love and resistance.
it feels like compensation for loss.
proof that yes, all matter is energy
and energy only and ever transforms.
it is the gold-plated ticket
to the exclusive, elusive night circus.
i stand at the gate,
willow switch in hand,
not quite ready to join.