The taut ground of soothsayer
Who broods in caverns for a glimpse of light.
How have I lost the glinting stone
I kept so long in my fist?
I have thrown down despair
And taken Struggle
And now it prowls round me as I sleep.
The eyes of Struggle
Are amber and do not blink,
The eyes of Seer in the dark
Who pleads for just one breath of day.
What alchemy can come of this?
The mystic reaches and does not clasp,
Prays and does not speak,
Longs for the desert
Knowing
It will devour.
from Considering Flight
I ran across this today as I was reviewing Considering Flight for a planned book cover contest and re-release. I don’t think I liked this poem very much when I wrote it over a dozen years ago, but it so perfectly describes the feelings I’m encountering as I work on Looking-Glass Girl. It’s not always this way, but mining the past has a way of leaving you depleted, while at the same time committed to telling the story. A strange paradox.