A magician without form. 

As a sprite might ruse, 

in the between and

through the by and by.

Bounded silken fine.

Threaded through 

woven forevers, 

this creature of infinity. 

Omnipresent… multiversal.

Let gravity’s waves flow, 

their heart beats swell the 

pooling black light.

Knowledge is silence

compressed in the jag

of a wolf’s howl.

A regret of drowned souls, 

adrift in bone breaking seas.

I am Fool’s guide.

From egg-life to last breath.

In the sensing, fates turn.

Ghost faces draw closer.

Shape shifting, spell casting.

Gyres around in wild dancing.

See atrophy’s pattern displayed in

alchemy and transformation. In

the eyes, transmutation’s grace.

To fairytales, read

from a bedside chair to

a child’s tousled head.

Liminal sleepers, their

slept in eyes, the runny nose.

A time of nurture for

empyrean fire souls.

The arcane occult, 

scattered by the Fool

harvested by the Magician.

Seeded long ago,

under darkened whimsey

of childhood dreams.

©️ Dai Fry 4th December 2020.