i
the grove
twisted by the briny winds, the elder redwoods twine;
a grove of serpent gestures, writhing wood and bark,
lean above a shaded trail that weaves a crooked line.
shifting through the canopy, capricious streamers shine
in slanted golden hues with patterns vague and sparse;
twisted by the briny winds, the elder redwoods twine.
broken twigs and fallen needles lie in shades of brown,
a fragrant forest floor where old dryadic hearts
lean above a shaded trail that weaves a crooked line.
rolling rumbles from the sea reveal a distant rune;
an incantation thunders on the ocean’s marge;
twisted by the briny winds, the elder redwoods twine.
phantom figures haunt the gloom, enfolded deep in fern;
contorted trunks and boughs, by ancient fires charred,
lean above a shaded trail that weaves a crooked line.
light and bright amid her peers, one sagess stands alone
and looms a splendid sight, the redwood matriarch;
twisted by the briny winds, the elder redwoods twine,
lean above a shaded trail that weaves a crooked line.
ii
the sagess
boughs extend and rise in whorls around her ancient heart
to form a vibrant grove from one enormous trunk,
every branch a thriving tree upheld by one support.
like some unusual bloom that magic airs have sprung,
redwood spires unfold in rings the way a lotus flares
to form a vibrant grove from one enormous trunk.
heaving mystic in the shade through dim uncounted years
between misshapen guards that keep a timeless watch,
redwood spires unfold in rings the way a lotus flares.
her presence holds the air with light opaque and soft;
bright awareness radiates to permeate the gloom
between misshapen guards that keep a timeless watch.
rooted deeply in the ridge, she rises from the loam
a living wooden sculpture shaped by wind and earth;
bright awareness radiates to permeate the gloom.
a creature from the dreaming sings above the surf;
boughs extend and rise in whorls around her ancient heart,
a living wooden sculpture shaped by wind and earth,
every branch a thriving tree upheld by one support.
iii
full moon visit
trancing moonbeams phase and shift amid these agéd trees;
i walk a path of dream through scattered glints of light,
bound to meet within the gloom a whorl of rising boughs.
rumbles cast a gentle spell with rhythmic wane and rise,
invoking tranquil thought while, framed within the mind,
trancing moonbeams phase and shift amid these agéd trees.
spirits seem to guide the way among these hidden spires,
as something seemed to lead me here at just this time,
bound to meet within the gloom a whorl of rising boughs.
secret breezes play the leaves in subtle soughs and sighs;
their motions mold the moon so fluid patterns glide;
trancing moonbeams phase and shift amid these agéd trees.
whispers led me to this place to share unfettered woes;
i climb the rising trail that weaves below the pines,
bound to meet within the gloom a whorl of rising boughs.
left with little else to give, i sing melodic lays
that merge with wind and sea beneath the partial sky;
trancing moonbeams phase and shift amid these agéd trees,
bound to meet within the gloom a whorl of rising boughs.
iv
astral visitation
features indistinct and vague appear to me in dream;
she visits from the void suffused in snowy light,
reaching out to bless my sleep beneath the moonlit dome.
i shared the gift of song within her wooden shrine;
touched within her timeless soul, now open to my sense,
she visits from the void suffused in snowy light.
gold and silver seal the gift i hold before her glance,
a locket made of dream; she holds the hidden gem,
touched within her timeless soul, now open to my sense.
i say, “it's all my tears”-—my every pain and fret
manifest as gentle hues inside a shifting frame,
a locket made of dream; she holds the hidden gem.
“this is something of myself”, her subtle tones inform;
she offers me a charm of iridescent wings
manifest as gentle hues inside a shifting frame.
in rest beneath a grove where leafless alders lean,
features indistinct and vague appear to me in dream;
she offers me a charm of iridescent wings,
reaching out to bless my sleep beneath the moonlit dome.
Adding your comment:
It is indeed near perfection. Like Jaden, above, it is best (for me anyway) read aloud, as the 'sound' of each line, each phrase, lays on the ears as a fine wine stimulates the pallate. (And after reading the comments regarding 'lies' and 'lays', ummm.. well...
you did a tremendous job with this. i absolutely love it. its a little long though but all four of your short stories i would call them, were WONDERFUL. 
