My bright-eyed faery of the woodland stones,
do not follow the crying and whispering years.
His homeless song drifts amongst the grasses.
I see into his world, by the mirrors he holds.
I stand on the edge of his dreams in a vision.
My arrival in his time will feel like departure.
To him we are non-existent, empty distances.
I am a misty surface rising into his thoughts.
His eyes are soft warm lakes, sorrowful, dim.
His lips, new leaves, barely touching my own.
For long moments I mistake him for our kind.
But you will unleash a stranger upon our world.
You will break his heart for one hundred years.
Retrace his footsteps back the way you came
until no harm can be done and no ways collide.
Your desires are fireflies, vanishing lights.
Do not astound him with your deepening gaze.
He will come to know you as unworldly, wild.
Sleepless nights will result from this haunting
as you become his strangest longest dream.
Do not follow him. You will fade in his land.
He is a beggar in a life of cobblestone streets
where he feeds the pigeons a crumb of hope.
Hear him weeping beneath the divided moon
but do not attempt to retrieve a dying song.
You will hunger for your awakening if you do.
Let him exit your dream, untouched, unknown.
His pockets are empty. He is leaving for home.
He is a human passing through our unknowing.
We have dreamed his lostness into our stone,
and now the stone will dream us, into her own.
