The thin line between fantasy and reality is drawn by the webs called time.
Bending,
Crossing,
Traversing,
Weaving,
The world once dreamt by the gods,
Surged into the snake’s endless biting of its tale.
The oracle echoes glimpses of the past: I hear my name being uttered, birthing me flesh.
The grievers, the moisturizers of the river banks, cry for the nameless that once abode the green, lush realms.
I am no more than the saliva, spat by giant celestial bodies, milky and wet.
And when you birth me, I say:
You, my eternal father, the endless one, evanescence,
You cradled my eyes with scent,
Bespoke my fingers to bend,
And whispered air into my navel.
You dreamt me, you biggest dreamer of all,
So, in my wake, shall you be there.
I see you, I hear you, touching clouds on my tongue.
Moss has grown on my belly,
When I sleep, shall you be there.
Once you dreamt me into life,
Now I weave you into my wake.
Shall you be flesh,
Shall you be breath.
I ask you, father, the endless one, evanescence:
Meet me in thou flesh!