as i sat tending the fire
and the elders had gone,

my ears were pricked
with the rolling lilt of music.

a once-burning, now-smoldering blaze,
had given me my dream and robbed me of it.

i was thoroughly aroused however as
i felt a foreshadowing.

as though my attention were arrested by something more than the dream.

although no sense in particular was as yet appealed to.
i held my breath and waited, and then I heard.

was it my fancy?

i listened again and again,
and I did hear a faint,
distant sound of an Aeolian harp,
borne upon the wind being blown fresh
from the opposite mountains.

The roots of my hair thrilled.
i listened, but the wind had died.
as i lay crumpled at the mountain's feet,
parched and thirsty with my goatskin
full and cold with water.

09/22/2005

Posted on 09/22/2005
Copyright © 2025 Charlie Morgan