Dance Macabre

A balded hilltop crest,
Peopled with moss and pebbles,
Planted by an ancient sky
That hummed with honeyed tongue
A violet, starry lullaby;
Crowning with foolscap and mandrake
Kindness and dark arts that struggle
In the awkward embrace--the humble folding
Of the primal greens
Into tamed streams--
Like a salt lick without a hunt
Or a wet kiss without a bloody bite.
Elgalon's bashful maidens braiding sandy hair
On the shell-lined shores, in deep foam, in low mist,
In divine, dreamlike touches of nimble digits
That enumerate the pale pages of
A lost history that hushes in elevated slumber,
As a remorseful magician reigns with violent thunder;
And the untouched, silent seas part like the quaking, velvet legs
That are bared before a novice midwife's nods:
The canonized Mother of creation's crux of news,
Assisted to birth music into blue hues
Of a cottony, straining empyrean,
Jettisoned like the slippery sea and sunken shore,
Impassioned by the eureka moment
Of a hybrid universal harmony,
Clothing stone with memory and embellishment...
A tiger in a timid trance...
A lion leaping a lonely dance.