I think I hear a voice, a call, my name's familiar sound, among the prickly pines and eternal evergreens. My houses rosy glow becomes a distant blinking eye, drifting off to sleepy oblivion as leafy forest arms embrace me.
None are here, now all are here.
Mythical statues standing under the moon's watchful gaze. I approach not knowing, having always known to want their truth manifest. Eyes black as eight balls, I drown in pupilless depths. Fingers long as ginger root, I marvel at their angelic grace. Engulfed, enshrouded, in light I float, weightless as a babe awash in the womb's dark sea, to live in bejeweled space, among the people of the stars.