One Thousand Doors

Once upon a time, I thought
that spirits lived within the wild,
and I spent long days on fey pursuits
every summer, as a restless child.

Between the oak and ash and pine,
I saw one thousand waiting doors,
and through the tangled weeds I ran,
across the mossy forest floors.

If only I could catch the light
and shine it on what I couldn't see,
if only my frantically beating feet
could faster, faster carry me

into the world which hid so well
in the whispering brush and brooks,
the realm of myths and fairy tales
I'd found in all my cherished books.

Hours spun by in the rustling wood,
I with widened eyes and bark-scraped hands,
seeking only a glimmer of shadowed gold
to guide me to my fantasy lands,

til underneath a twisting birch,
I paused for a moment of thought--
a moment of fear, a moment of doubt,
a moment questioning the truth of what I sought.

But at that moment, far away,
a wispy light flew by
and off I went to catch my dream
as the sun bled across the sky.

With every breath that fell beyond my lips,
every step that swept me over gnarled roots,
I sailed through the thousand open doors
and followed the lilting laugh of flutes

into somewhere dark and bright and sweet
and spiced with magic, myth, mystique.
Vast strokes of rye shimmered and shook
as the heated breeze kissed my cheek.

'Welcome,' the winds whispered to me
as I slipped toward a silver fire
in the center of the earthen sea,
watching stars on the ground spiraling higher.

They lost themselves in the burning heavens
while I flickered into a secret place
of scarlet wings and golden eyes
and carefree spirit on every face.

I lost my grip on all I knew,
as dancing, leaping, pounding feet
dragged me into the reeling burst
of pipes and fiddles and a drumming beat

which drove the willowy creatures in circles
around their writhing, wild flame,
tossing daisies and laughs and light
like life and death are all the same

and all that's left to do is be,
live without bounds then live some more
in this endlessly whirling festival,
where there's only now and no before.

So we drank honeysuckle in the falling night,
spun beneath the painted celestial skies,
sang and strung stories below the pearl moon
as they wrapped me in faery lullabies,

til all my dreams were their twirling dances,
til all I breathed was their silver smoke,
til I had no past to speak of and
I knew no world but that of the fair folk.

Echoes might once have reached my ears
of humans in the wood, searching long,
passing blindly by all one thousand doors...
but I'd been lost to the swirling fae song.