Who wants to watch the time? The sun whispers, her hot-petaled head sweating light. Together we soar into the beyond. And if I ask about purple storms and darkness, she only sings of golden rays, and if I ask about after, she murmurs of the dawn in rose-colored poetry, trailing a feathered sigh. She is an ancient wanderer. I follow her through shadows not remembering before, only this timeless circling.
The Magnetic Poetry Oracle gave me most of the words right away today. She may have been watching the eclipse this week.
She asks if you can see it–the cool blue of time– sprays of rose-pink, leaf-green, cerulean, indigo, and diamond-sprinkled light– a storm-dance of life to the secret songs of stars and the harmony of moon-music—listen– now, the whisper of blood-dreams, and the language of wind and sky, dark voices of decay join bright beams– an exhale– the brilliant breath of the universe, an icy cloud of fever-flowers soars into the after, leaving a trail, ferocious, wild, aching— almost there, dazzled, you ask if this is a beginning or an ending? But she is gone.
The Magnetic Poetry Oracle gave me a oracle poem. She gave me “ask if” every time I tried it.