Through warming days
my speeding senses stroll,
while magic and madness
weave a haunting tale
of Taoist intrigue,
a web of fish tails
permitting no sane egress.
Willingly,
full of longings
long unknown,
I am drawn
by cryptic measure
into the cosmic vortex
of your most alchemic soul.
Or did you know already
that all this myth
we dreamers call real
is simply a living poem,
born not of sleep
(as the sages say)
but of pure creation,
a poem driven by love
through each human cell
of divine imagining?
However many spells
your sorceress eyes
may cast,
I accept the offering,
nor ever once caring
if even now you realize
what strange sacrifices
those bewitching jewels
have made.
EDDIE WOODS