Magic-Realism
The Aegis sleeps
Beneath stones,
Awaiting its awakening
When Thought
Stirs Her throat of bronze.
It reflects the sky,
And manifests
A spider's web.
(Archetypes strike their mystic tolls,
And linger in memory's rage.
Pearls reign in the night.
The Aegis whistles
In tumbled marble,
Bursting fish-eyed
Until Being buzzes awe.)
The Aegis calls fossils
Up in in its gyroscopy,
Spinning like
The keystones of Time.
It refashions images
Our ancestors knew,
Into the energy
That keeps the Universe
From running down.
(All we feel in our fingers
Is the periphery of touch.
Everything we see is light.
Hearing is a rush of air.
The Aegis waits
Beyond the locus of the senses.)
Shades murmur grappled swells,
Moaning rivulets
And suckling at the mouths of Spring.
The Aegis
Is the presence which illuminates,
But never betrays its core.