Curious ways are the art of the dream
One where all hope and all disaster move about in evercolorful smoke
Where who I am and what I seem
Are the same with the same spiritual look
The oak and the crawling ivy circle around my stone edifices
The sun and moon are pale lights in my sky
And the sound of water and faerie chimes entices
Yet no stranger enters here and no spirit will truly die
For all the sound and peace in these eyes
Comes from entry into this realm of spirit
Where peace falls like drops of rain and thought flies
Through the air and those dwelling creatures hear it
Bounce from one petal in a carpet of indicernable flowers
That move away as I walk in this tiny area of measurable size.
c 2001