[II]
She is the misty fountain by your long recuperation,
where you will grow younger, for a hundred years.
When you wake up you will return to your world.
She will not return with you, for she would not live.
You will be a thousand times stronger, a million lives older,
but all is not as it was and the path back may be lost.
So now do you stray between the trees, once more,
to the borderlands, outside of all conscious thought.
The winds sigh, is this the faery wood you have dreamt of?
Finding her is more difficult, when the paths are all known.
He said, "I have followed her light source for centuries,
since I need to touch some being, as unending as myself."
She did not speak. The woods were still. He thought,
There is nothing like death, to teach us about life.
All dreams strengthen and enter into a widening river.
Her gaze is growing younger, as she returns to old ways.
She is a stone, only brightened, by where she belongs.
For there have been no other sightings,
half as familiar, as this whispering voice you return to.
I will only travel with you, as far as I can,
but we will be lost here, since there are no certain answers,
as to what will become of us, or this love,
as egoless as a forest,
the deep and unending haze. A green bird in a silent wood.
