Dreams are like the old stories where wolves are seekers always running, and women carry fire in their bare hands and light the dark paths before them.Old stories hold that the birds will fly all the miles of the world to tell your secrets to the rising moon, and men will walk over oceans of ice to find one truth.

Drink in the heat of an ancient sun held in the cold fire of water rising from earth and rockSpilling over your cupped handsand drawn to lips and tonguePouring water’s memoryof the azure mist it fell frominto the chalice of your fleshTurning your eyes skywards with desire for the freedom it was born of

The forest rose like a dream from the mind of Chaos’s lonely daughter and the sun fell heavy and thick to warm the blood of a world not quite ready to live but so tired of its own imagination

Beneath the gentle gaze of a god turned in stone holding the dreaming wish of safety in our arms

The fires of nightthrough distance danceghosts who still know how to sing