to the poet
to the mystic
to the seer
who conjures words
before us and begins
to appear, kashmir
and bolts of crimson cloth
almond and vanilla
crushed and transformed
into
a potion that could be
a prison
or a palace
that thrills us
two souls one person
light and fire
bound by breath
days and days that never end
and ones that will end
this message we'll send
gather your corn
light smoke of sandalwood
we are renewed each morning
or was it each night?