rainfall: in step and wake where she manifests the ground be hallowed
time eats into the day a consistent and fixated beast chewing away at the fringes of reality
floodgates raised: not light but the darkness raw fills empty spaces
true morning: bodies of still and natural life bathed in a gentle glow of golden
within reach to horizon each tree contributes a tune to the collective birdsong
gone are the cosmic sounds and reverberations of worlds beyond from the night after
each word in the spell: is a haunting that lingers in the space spoken gathering essence to power an apparatus of annihilation
not druids or sorcerers but a different kind of circle: smiths who harness the magic of the seasons to mend the realms in the aftermath of world-ending wars and infernal blight
and if dreams became currency wouldn’t the ones who live between stained pages be the wealthiest
spring after dark the smell of dreams burning from across the causeway
elancharan gunasekaran 