Blue Moon

The blue moon behind the window
is an illusion, as is the silver sphere
that enters upon its drawn curtain
to this skeleton laid upon a bedding
& unfolds a zodiac on the ceiling.

a silver wheel spiralling down
apex pyramiding crown quarters
demiurge serpentine maws open
the northern crown to isle of Avalon.
on the barge of ariadne’s diadem

you come to the white lady cerridwen.
walk the glittering palace of rhiannon
to fields elysian, mists of caer arianrhod,
into metamorphosis of a dragon god,
where the cyclopean shaman appears

demiurge sun in a single serpent eye.
in three directions the crane fly
in cheveron across the sky
& dragons like flamingos soar
lagoons from shore to shore,

spheres of sailing hedge row isles
quivering in mirror mirages.
it seems pterodactyls in the stars
leap through the mind’s eye,
to shatter even the mirror glass

that contains so many lies,
so many impossible desires,
a near cascadence of all possibilities,
trapped, enclosed, sealed to fall
still hidden into a possible world.
Gift of Tongues