Shimble

Darkness tangible and the shine-light strips bark from cypress roots
A crowd of rising daffodils and a hundred shining seasons-in-a-jar
But fireflies they aren't out yet to sing with the flowers over Lilac's corpse-
The survivors their weaning weather nodding, Sage and slow
As if a hundred-thousand haired perfect summer hunter wasn't enough
To drop and strike to decay and rebirth, they found Wisdom in the
Taking of the thing; she was radiant in her deep-autumn attire
Sepia-gold sundress against the falling rain and clouds parting-

She hides her longblades well, still the Monster Perfected and strong,
Her capabilities outweighing the horizon and her kiss alone. She stands
Beachbound and to Sage's back, her eyes ansibles, her shoulders
Pillars of treetrunk wood, defined and carved like strident moongrowth
Totem poles of expectation and words from no language, the earth shook
When her emblems took to her arms and chest and stomach-

Mice in the fungus, farming dew for their instruments of silver, Harmonia
Her hair spun short and windmere'd, string-multitudes taut and played
From the reverberant downed-trunk of lastyear, they brought the magic
Of Simplepaws to weave between the flowers' singing seasons-in-a-Jar.
Strike, strike against the silkenfurs, strike against and listening to
The earth Thrum, thrum and vibrate in its echoing chambers a forethought
Between the birthing worlds of Real, Symphonia, Intesanct, Somnia, and
Shore, each their own resonance of chord and harmony,

And he sat.

"I would bare witness to your graces, even in this celebration of life-through-
Death, I would solemnify your beauteous confirmation, your fir tree dust
About the tiny grasspaths that dissipate as you pass, I would follow you deep
Inside me to strip the inside sweat from my tinny and tinkling glass sphere-
You, the world of thought indescribable and cohesive and cochneal,
You, the melding of this nearly touchable veil of superimposition, I bless myself
To allow myself
The exhale of breath and inhale of gratification between the left panel
To the right panel of this tryptyc, this quaptyc, cynctyc explanation of a five-
Fingered world."

The story unfolded itself a pair of wings reversed of each other, feathered
In the Real and a veil of differing planes releasing, it is a crystal shard
Between sheaves of mooncloth, a woodknot from the sixth worldtree,
Light elastic, the thought fantastic, the living dragonperch, the wraith's dry call,
Jack's violin imprinted against trunkbark, clouds of the Apocalypse in Blue,
And the Shimble, the lunar string-harmony of ice-age wood and struck
Drammicus steel, the weapon and lilting-thing of Lilac's renown
Sitting poised and splattered in pollen-of-blood, a petal squeezed,
Rinsed of substance to give it life.