The Box stands glimmering,
electric with dark magic and a wanting that goes beyond reason,
flutters moth like outside the boundaries of explainable and expected,
I trace my fingers across the carved circles and lines
runic symbols with an edge so finely crafted it swallows the light.
A press, a turn, a recognition of where it wants your finger to go
needs it to go….
I learn the trails and my fingers warm
the air growing louder and the vibrations traveling along the flesh of my hand,
a buzzing as if a hive had opened up under my feet,
which sets the lamentation humming like a wine glass.
But like a priest only I can hear this confession
these repulsive glamours spreading like frost
threading into my ears and eyes.
Ignore the screaming nerves and drop your polite expectations
they only slow your motion
like trying to run in a bad dream…
What portal did you envision, what cave of wonders did you think you had gained access to?
I rolled the stone away searching for a key
to join with something higher
experience something with a sharper, keener edge
an intensity that would speak to me in ways the sad and worn streets of
Our Town never could.
That search was a medley of frustrating themes replayed in a thousand variations…
At the very end stood an innocuous puzzle box
diamond cut and filled with those arcane mysteries
I was seeking.
It is now left to me to find an interpreter
a guide through this serpentine landscape.
To construct an answer to the humming
to signal my acquiescence
for it is not my hands, dusted with fear and ashes,
that summon the lamenting….
it is desire…