You are born and reborn
night after night.
Your dreams guide you deep, deep down into the underworld of your
wild soul, with weary eyes closed, you naturally see more in the dusk than
when eyes are levered open in the light.
In the night’s sanctitude, you walk the crimson forests of your heart
with dark earth still damp upon feet
as you wake,
spreading other worldly soil onto your day clothes.
You can still smell charred white oak on your skin,
and taste peat whiskey upon your tongue,
a twig still lies intertwined in your untamed hair.
and smoke softens your bones.
Walk wildly within your knowing of this place and eke that ethereal dust into all fibres of your being.