By Eric Hansen/AtlQuotl
The master of mysteries awaits,
outside in the sybilant storm.
I look, and behold, high rises now the thunderhead.
I leap, and, with a jolt my wings catch the air,
circling higher and higher before the deluge.
Rain then comes down on my face,
bringing a strange irrational joy,
a oneness with the universe,
rare to me.
Flying, twirling, dancing through downdrafts
winging my way across the sky,
I fly in harmonies as old as dragonkind,
my scales glistening where they break into sun.
Updrafts, fighting their way to heaven, catch me
throwing me up into the crystal sky, through
crystals of ice and mist clouds,
to a high point where the blood pounds
through your head, and spots of bright color
dot your eyes.
Diving now the awesome view
shows the world as a tapestry
and me as one poor needle,