I was just having fun with word-sounds here, but decided I liked it.


A soundless call traverses the vast deeps,
passing through parsecs whirling with nebulae and nothingness,
arcing through acres empty of atoms, holding perfect cold,
and through sectors studded with stars, in hot galactic hearts.

It is a summons.
It is an invisible invitation,
a metaphysical incantation,
presaging an unprecedented juxtaposition
of sages, shamans and magicians.

No wind stirs the surface of a summer-soaked pond
festooned with cattails and waterlilies, bullfrogs and flies,
pendant in an endless, languorous afternoon.
This is the location.

Forces not perceptible by senses
roil that water in a vortex of power
raising the hackles of nearby mammals.
Then, settling in a circle, the wizards convene,
distilling wisdom from the echoing wells of wilderness.

Updated: November 1, 2018 — 4:50 pm

The Author

Mary Wildfire

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