i. My Queen Deidre

Her name was Deidre. An old old name
 for melancholy, broken-hearted.

But her first expression, once she realized
 I hadn’t come to take her, willing
or no, wasn’t melancholy. Relief?

Curiosity. Confusion. Took my hand,
 I’m not thinking at that time to give.
Trained to it. Slaved to it.

But with this man, inclined anyway.
 I was busy with the dinner when
they’d rode into camp. Too swamped among
 my own terrors to pay mind to more men
in camp. More plates to fill. More appetites.

It was my time, I was told. I was ripe.
 Smelling blood between my legs was
enough to alter my status from waiting
 to ready.

And I’d been told to be prepared. The men
 had been out riding weeks for meat,
for furs, for murder, for fun. Tonight
 for some homecoming pillage.

So my thoughts as I went through
 my motions of cutting vegetables,
sorting spices, pounding meat already
 tender with anguished fists.

Then I left, walking from the cooking
 tents to the main path for
horse & foot travel. Joined what
 seemed like most of the camp.

They were still on horseback, the six
 of them. I felt something. I felt something.
For the first time since my lively sensual
 blood became an elixir for rage &
brutality, I looked up at him & felt
 something.

It was the first moment I’d not
 obsessed entirely upon the Tangled Gate.
First moment I saw something else
 before me. Your blue eyes, sky’s,
terrified of something. But not me or mine.

No. Terrified of something more imminent.
 & intimate than our arrival. Of our
extended embrace of a look, one word:
 curiosity. I tried to shake myself
clear. The Gate. The Gate.

We’d encountered your camp’s men
 along our path, & they’d set upon us
with blood & delight. Outnumbered
 about fifty to sex. We them, really.
Killed none this time. I’d made that
 clear from the outset, that first day,
kill only as last choice, to defend yourself
 or your brothers.

These were too unskilled & undisciplined
 for that. Subdued, mercifully quick,
welcomed us back to their camp as
 friends, new allies. Promises of meat,
beds. Women, girls.

These were mean men. Our single glance
 amongst ourselves confirmed this.
Another adventure in men-taming
 on the circuitous path to the Gate.
Followed them back. Clear with them
on the pain a trap would bring. Wide-eyed, nodded.

We’d done this before. Brought a kind
 of deeper, kinder law to tribes &
villages unable to do it themselves.
 Become an art of it. You were something
else my art could not contain nor comprehend.

We walked away from the camp
 but I trusted you. Didn’t feel the need
to trust you. This is what we do,
 from now on. Walk hand in hand
from somewhere to somewhere else.

“What is your name?”
“My King?”
He starts. Why had I called him that?
 I barely knew the word. The marauding
animals who’d ruled us till then would
 bend knee to none among them.
Catches himself. Smiles. I remember
 his question.

“Deidre?”
“Deidre?”
“Yes?”
“Are you unsure?” Smile mocking, so
 handsome I’ll near swoon to it.
“They named me so.”
“They?”
“The men of the camp. Said I had
 a melancholy face from when young.”

He stops us. Takes my face in his two
 large hands. His eyes are kind &
sadder in ways not I nor anyone
 in my camp could have known.
He wasn’t sad for himself, or his few
 brothers. He was sad for us all.

“You were a foundling.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“By the sea. It’s not far.”
He sniffs, nods. Knows.

Walks us along in the night awhile
 in quiet. Looks up at the glittering
sky. Looks, searches. Then back
 down at me, in my glowing girlish
rags.

With a laugh that nearly drops me,
 he lifts me up, & up, & up,
till I am sitting atop his great shoulders.

Without a word more, I know he
 wants me to see the stars better,
watch them with him, by day,
 by night, always watch the stars
with him.

You wonder why I left, my King.
I wonder why you left me, Deidre,
 my Queen.

I’ll tell you now.

******

ii. Stars Dark, Woods Bright

I am dreaming. I am awake.
I loved the stories, whatever they mean.
I miss the boy I was years ago.
I keep along because men are hopeful
 for tomorrow, whatever odds or proof
  stand before them.

Dreamwalker finds me, tangled in
 a dream I confuse with continuing
my night; not the one where I
 brought her to her tent, a kiss to
her cheek, & a smile; & her no longer
 terrified, & this worth more to me
than everything else. Except. Except.

Dreaming that she follows after me
 back to my camp, to my tent,
that she says without words that
 I must claim her now, tonight, or
her heart lost to me. I look at
 my other self, cramped in this tent
where usually only one of me, &
 together we begin to undress her slowly.

He mercifully glares her face so I am
 not so heart-strick as he reveals her
body to be flesh & bones, & then filaments of
 light, & then my crackling eyes opening to
the morning’s quietest hour near dawn.

Oh. Ahh. Yes. Dreamwalker. I find my hand
 gripping his still, & tightly. We are
beneath a pale oak, slightly different angles,
 but I can see his blue-grey eyes, awake,
no glint, no mock. Not yet.

“Is it her? The one I’ve dreamt of?”
He’s quiet. “You’ve decided.”
“Have I? Two of me with her in my tent?”
Now the mock. A kind I’ll give to him
 alone. Give easily.
“It’s been awhile for all of us. Since your . . .
 strictures.”

“Maybe I thought it would take two
 of me?” Sharpening my own mock.
“Maybe it would,” he says drily, &
 releases my hand.

The strictures. Almost immediately. No smoke.
 No hard drink. No women. Took months
to allow some kinds of smoke, & our
 brother-sister Asoyadonna’s sly soothing hand,
from time to time.

But the dream, once, overpowering,
 & then dreams of it recurring,
near as potent. I can never see her eyes,
 her hair too diaphanous for color,
but her hand, powerful, leading me
 as truly, as inexorably, as lightly,
as the sun leads the day.

Laughing, laughing, a mouth as elemental
 as spring torrents, leading me,
leading me, leading me, close, closer,
 closer still, & then arrival, & a sort of
cease before what now towered over us.

A Gate. The Tangled Gate. She motions
 me toward it, begins to fall away,
both her hands gesturing to it,
 sure, strick, sure, & I turn to
behold it full, & the Hmmming that’s
 been all along in my ears, her voice
singing to me, fades, fades, braids
 into the welcoming of the Gate—

I hear him standing, finding his familiar
 lean upon his hekk stick. It’s not a cane,
not a weapon, more a companion by
 waking, an icon for balance, & a kind
of pageless tome, a cabinet of night-elixirs
 by dream, a something, many somethings.

But it means him away & I remain.
And the old pang that I have led these
 brothers fruitless all these years. Harder
than usual, for I’ve brought us now into
 my old homeland, on good received
clues, but nonetheless. History’s weight
 on me we all share while here.

“We travel light! We bring what we
 need, no more. Our skills, knowledge.
We are for each other, & what we do
 together!” All that my shout before
them that first day, names barely yet
 told, hands hardly clasped.

They none of them brought excess
 anyway. Well-worn knapsacks, a few choice
weapons. These five had not come to me
 as children to teach. Just wanting
their full pack, their lead dog.

I saw amongst them what bonds forged already.
 The merry light among the painter, Francisco,
& the one simply called Dreamwalker, & the brother-
 sister, Asoyadonna. The more sober bond between
the old woodsman, Roddy, & his young companion, Odom.

They look to me, listen to me, this first
 day I’m remembering, & thousands more
to come when I bear no more authority
 over them than my vision of an Island,
a Tangled Gate, a promise we can save
 the world.

I owe them this, owe them many
 things,  & now you’ve come too, & I was
a boy here years ago, listening to the many
 stories Travelers would tell when passing
through. Watching them forlornly till,
 one day, I left too.

I loved the stories, whatever they mean.
I miss that boy I was years ago.

I walk back to my brothers, that
 near-sleepless morning, my heart
tendered open ever more old & new,
 vowing I can be what they all need,
what the world needs. What you need,
 Deidre, whatever was that dream
at the foot of the Gate, whatever the doubts
 mean, old & new. I am hopeful despite.

******

iii. Hollow Tooth

I have a hollow tooth. It was because of
 a deal I made in a dream with a
coyote. That was the name given
 the tiny spectres that haunted our
region when I was a boy.

They were trapped there, somehow,
 by the brutish, cruel men who
tyranted our tribe. Men who had
 years ago ridden into our peaceful
lands, looking for something powerful.

They’d found it, them, but could not
 figure how to leave with them.
It slowed them, halted them, &
 enough girls & women to pillage,
& the living lazy with many fruit trees,
 & the sea nearby. And them unable
to take the spectres with them away.

They had occupied our lands many
 years by when I began to look around
at the ways of our lives. I was fed,
 not pressed to work, vaguely content.
I was a nothing of a boy who followed
 his brothers in chasing through fields;
building clumsy boats to lose quickly
 in the surf; ranging far sometimes
into the White Woods to hunt small terrified
 things. I killed nothing but only because
too slow, because too clumsy.

Then something happened in those Woods.
 I became separated from my brothers,
even their shouts disappeared.
 Twas afternoon passing, the sky
dark with thoughts of storm. Listened &
 listened for them. Nothing.

Nothing of a boy, took awhile before
 I panicked. Started running, faster &
faster, like I could will my way
 home. Stumbled, crashed, ankle
caught by a root, head flung straight
 into an old trunk. A groan, & still,
probably hours.

It was dark when I woke, dark &
 very quiet at first. Pain in my ankle,
ache in my head. Dark & lost.

Looked up. The stars crowded in the sky,
 but each pulsing black to white to black
to white again. Would have yelled out
 again but my mouth dry.

No fear. Why not? Something I could not
 reck at first, but my hearing awaked
that night & I heard the hmmming
 for the first time. It was coming from
everywhere. The trees, the grass,
 what hid many from my sight,
the air itself.

My pain fell away. This makes no
 sense to recall or say. The deeper
I listened, the fainter my pain, till
 it was gone. And I was hmmming
too now. Standing, shaky, leaning
 gently on the trunk, aware of it
as a being like me, just differently
 formed, & us both hmmming
with all the rest.

I began to walk, to feel the Hmmm
 guiding me. It was clumsy, awkward,
but I listened, & listened, & felt it
 guide me along, step, another, another,
& as my own hmmming joined in,
 it became easier.

Until the White Woods thinned out &
 the hmmming seemed to recede back
into them.

“Wait! Please!”
There was like a pause. Listening.
“Thank you so much!”
More receding.
“Wait!”
Pause.
“I don’t know who you are, but if
 I can ever return your kindness,
please let me. I will try.”

The hmmming seemed to return to
 me, press close to my face,
my torso, grasp my hands, &
 then it was gone. And I was
slowly walking home an hour or so
 before daylight.

I told nobody, save that I’d knocked
 my head, passed out, woke again, &
lucked my way out. Told nobody
 anything that mattered. I’d never
 had something to myself before.
Kept it.

Now I looked around more, less
 to the whatever wanderings of my
brothers. I’d had something they hadn’t.
 I saw how our girls & women were
treated, slaves to cook-pots & tents.
 The men who ruled us, unique by their
long died black & white braids, treated
 our men near to worse.

Sneaked around nights to the tents
 where our slavers would meet
to conspire. Always talk of the spectres,
 the coyote, how to harness & drive
them on. Take the girls & women, leave
 this cursed region.

Nothing of a boy, or not something
 yet, I wondered how to help these
coyote. Had they helped me that
 night in the White Woods? Who else?

There were old women who lived on the
 edge of our encampment. Nothing good
said of them. Loathing at a safe distance.

One night after dinner I made my way
 carefully to their tent. They were still
seated on stumps without it, still
 at their meal.

I approached like nothing of a boy, &
 I doubt they would have told me
anything, no more than the menfolk
 had told my obscure queries. But
I stopped, closed my eyes, remembered
 as best I could, & walked up
to them hmmming as we had in
 the Woods. Walked right up
with all I had to offer for answers.
 Opened my eyes slowly.

They regarded each other & began
 to cackle wildly. One stood &,
bony hand to my shoulder,
 brought me amongst them.

I told them what had happened, that
 strange night, what I had learned since.
They had me drink bitter tea from
 a stony crag of a mug. As I drank,
as I talked, their several faces
 seemed to melt into one, smoothed,
  prettied. Wide eyes, laughing smile

Hmmming. I don’t know when it began
 but we were deep in it, & I was
shown visions of wonderful things.
 The wide wide sea, & eventually
a green Island with a rocky shore.
 And then a great structure, an arch,
agelessly old, & within an ancient
 fountain still bubbly young with
water. Then it receded, this vision,
 & I was back.

My eyes still closed. Silence around
 me. I kept them shut, panicked
to let all this go.

“Please, how can I help?”
“Would you leave all you know?”
“To go there?”
“Would you leave tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Would you risk all that you are to save
 your world?”
“Yes.”

I felt a cold metal tool smack into
 my hand. Silence. I opened my eyes.
Sharp needle’s point. For awling into
 rock.

“Your back lower left tooth.”
“I?”
Silence.

Something of a boy, I slowly, bloodily,
 grinded that tooth to contain a
cavity within it, big & hid enough to
 shelter something small & precious.

I passed out from the pain. Woke
 with only hints of light in the sky.
Coughing blood, but alright. I’d done it,
 but what passenger?

A cackle emitted within my mouth. Two &
 three more. Playful, delighted,
like a greeting among new friends.

I was now something of a boy, though
 with nothing to my name as I
made my tired way toward those
 White Woods, carrying to freedom
something tiny, merry, & important.

No possessions but a bloody awl, &
 this new friend. Memories of
the cruelties men will do to possess
 something powerful. A promise
I had made to somehow save the world.

Would this mean returning here one
 far day? I knew nothing. I hmmm’d
& hmmm’d, & my passenger cackled, cackled,
 & joined in.

******

iv. Apparitions

We’d been traveling together, the six of us,
 a few weeks, no more, camping out,
encountering noone. I wanted to see
 what we had, what we were.
What we could be.

I bonded with Dreamwalker first. He accepted
 our task most plainly. Worried my trust
of him, holding little back from me.
 Watched the others too, sometimes closely,
seeing waves of mood with the subtlety
 of a heart versed in the hidden.

“We were talking of our path.”
“Path?”
He smiles. My evasion is flicked away.
“We have an idea.”

It was Asoyadonna’s. Visceral loyalty
 of a man to his new leader, chosen mission.
Subtler affections that trace womanly
 among the bones & sinews.

“There’s a village. Not far.”
“You’ve known it?”
“My old home, my liege,” dark eyes under long
 auburn hair, intimate without flirt.
“Where you were raised?” I correct, slightly.
She nods.

The morning around us is mountain cool,
 peaceful as these White Woods get,
& I slow to aware that we are left
 alone to talk. Ahh.

“They would welcome a visit?”
“Yes. My Aunt. She—” Too eager.
“Tell me. Say it.”

She relaxes her back against her tree.
Then stands, finds enough in her
 teapot for both of us. Her teas
tingle, hmmm very low. We drink.

“When I was younger, she would show
 me maps, old maps.”
“Of?”
“Islands. And something ancient on
 one of them.”
“What?”
“She called it the Tangled Gate.”
I start. I had used those words with
 none of these men.
“You’ve . . . heard of it?”

So alone for so long, so private to all
 that mattered to me, I catch myself
retracting deep. Tug, gently, then harder,
 then steady out the words.

“Yes. I think it’s what we seek.”
She nods. More to say. “We can stay at
 the Pensionne. They welcome Travelers,
like us.”

Now I smile, like a brother, like a decent man.
“You’ll like seeing your Aunt again?”
She nods. What’s let between us
 remains. Dreamwalker’s gift.

The rest unsurprised our destination.
I wonder again at my wizardry at
 summoning these good brothers, & failure
at consummating my friendship with
 them. Maybe a bed, better food
than White Woods grubbings.

We walk half the day to arrive as
 light is fading. This Village seems
indeed small. In the dusk only the great
 Pensionne, many sided unto shapelessness,
& a nearby tavern are distinct.

“The Ancienne Coffeehouse is all the name
 it has. Full of friendly carousing folk
& song. Usually.” A glint in her eyes.

No main entrance to the Pensionne &
 Asoyadonna persists us outside &
around it instead. Even in the twilight,
 the Gardens are gorgeous. Sniffing,
to the perfume of happiness itself, of
 every kind of green growing & blooming kind.

Her Aunt is tall, a sober, handsome face,
 dark eyes, long long braid of dark hair,
a rough simple costume on her well-worked body.

Greets us all warm, a moment with each.
To young Odom, a kiss on the check. “None
 of them know what to make of you yet, eh?”
To tall Roddy, two hands clasped, “You’ll know
the true worth of our green friends, now?”
To dark Francisco the closest embrace.
 “How your women must love to pose
  for that brush!”
To Dreamwalker, a nod. Then a sort of
 sad, helpless embrace. I wonder. I don’t.
To me, she kneels. Caught off, I kneel
 in return. Finally, we laugh.

Allows Asoyadonna to take her arm
 as we walk not back into the Pensionne
but across to the Ancienne Coffeehouse.

Tis a place that inside seems to run
 miles deep, a long busy bar to one wall
that continues room after room.
 Leads us to a room off to one side,
dark & warm, cushions for seats,
 an ancient stump with its odd game.

We sit. Aunt herself fetches us craggy
 tankards of dark drink. The others look
to me, recalling my strictures. I taste,
 tis a stronger version of Asoyadonna’s
own teas. Stronger hmmming. I agree.
 I nod.

Aunt reminds me of the old women
 of my own youth, & so I know she
has given us the medicine we need.
 She trusts her beloved niece with us,
& the intimacy of her secret knowledge.
 What Travelers sometimes die than tell.

I relax. Listen to the stories my brothers
 tell Aunt. Her face is infinitely kind,
& sad. I feel kinship I have rarely known.
 Like Dreamwalker, she leads me back
to these brothers & what they are.

We find ourselves gathered round
 the game upon the old stump.
I shake my head a little in this murk
 but it seems the pieces on the board
are all alike. Two rows on each side,
 facing across two empty ones. Little . . .
black & white pandy bears? Big eyes?
 Red & orange dresses? Laughing mouths?
My hollow tooth throbs memory.

Dreamwalker is studying the pieces
 closely, hmmming, a few words,
“my want for you is enthralled in
 my bones,” & I feel something
precious is in hands, a homemade
 book, like he sings his words as
though someone accompanies, flutes
 or strums along. Someone precious
& lost.

I shift my muddled gaze to Asoyadonna,
 hand on Dreamwalker’s shoulder,
close to him as always. She is among
 the pieces on that board, walking
hand in hand with them, tittering,
 cackling until she comes to a door
in the board, door down into it,
 pulled back & a staircase descending
into the earth, come down a hallway,
 a pretty girl met, happy shrills, talk of
one beautiful boy, & the next. Precious, lost.

Uncertain my space & time anymore,
 I reach out my hand & feel the
solid shoulder of Francisco, we’re
 in his studio, he’s lecturing a swoon
of girls, pointing at the face in his
 White Birch picture. Before more, I stand,
stagger, would collide my way out of
 this room & these visions. Precious, lost.

“My King?” Aunt’s voice. My eyes closed,
 I lean hunched against a wall.
“Why do you call me that? I am nobody’s
 King!”
A pause. “We both know you will be.”

“I can’t lead these men to what we’re
 bound to & salve their ills & regrets too!
I can barely offer just a vision!”

“It’s a true vision. They believe you.
 They came. Look!”

Open mine eyes. Roddy & Odom leading
 the laughter, the cackling, with the
little pandy bears they seem to know well,
 love well. Tossing them back & forth, jaw
to jaw.

Aunt’s hand on my face is now not old, not
 weathered even by loving toil in
the sun. “Healing is hereon, my love,
 & best sought together. Why else bound
for the Tangled Gate? How else
 to save this world?”

Aunt’s more familiar hand pulls me back
 among my brothers. None of them look
at me directly until I raise my tankard
 high, a saluting gesture to each one
in turn, & Aunt lastly.

“Brothers. Tonight & always.” Our tankards
 clash together, by twos, by threes, then
all of us, again & again. Our hostess smiling
 lets her pause as the six of us
cry & toast on & on.

******

v. Pensionne Nights

“We are slaves to what we love, & then
 twice twice over to what we love &
can have no more. Spectres of word & touch
 awl us from within. A happy song,
a low voice, crickets’ hypnotic tunes in a
 forested dusk.” Pauses, though she
keeps walking, leading me somewhere
 in this labyrinthine Pensionne.

Smiles back at me. “Our feet walk on,
 our hearts beat steady inside, our minds
reach & reach back. A weird whorl of living.”

I say nothing. Silence best shows my interest,
 my will to humble & learn while here.

She warns, of past attachments, of new ones
 beyond the six of us, of slowing too long in
any place.

“The world seeks to settle men, to bind them
 to a place, its land, its people. The world
does not know it needs saving.”

“Are we wrong then? This quest foolish
 in place of a settled life, well-lived?”

She stops us. We’re in a murky passageway,
 one of countless. She likes to walk the
Pensionne at late hours, touching its walls,
 tasting its airs, sniffing where it ripples with
ease & unrest. Came upon me one night,
 more randomly awake & walking. Now finds
me every time I so wander.

“What’s the filed-out cavity in your back tooth
 for?”
I don’t lie. “A favor.”

“Mutilating your jaw?”
“For passage. Escape. For us both.”
She nods. Knows. Asks to see how much
 I will tell. I choose to answer true.

Does my sleeplessness infect my brothers
 like a malady? More like my uncertainty.
I don’t know why we remain, but we do. I cease
 returning to my room by morning, sleeping
wherever I sink, always an empty room or
 at least a corner to find. When I sleep at all.

Dreamwalker finds me in the Gardens,
 a full moon revealing my shape in
the bushes I’ve settled in. He noiselessly
 joins my perch. Silence between us.

A hand on my shoulder. “Why do you wait
 here, my liege?”
“Aunt told me a magickal beast roams
 these Gardens some nights.”
“And why do you seek him?”
I shake my head. I don’t know. “Curiosity?”

“He is my friend. Perhaps he will come.”
 Tis Asoyadonna. Does she come folded
within Dreamwalker’s pocket?

Alas, nothing. Just a fool to reck
 before these good persons.

Now I reply, as Aunt & I walk along.
 “What matters, what roots deep & stays,
is who cares stone sure for you; less so;
 used to be; & the rest who pass you by,
eyes dull to you, bright to their own.
 Not on their map. Could be. Not.

“These brothers, we’re hardly a single thing
 yet, like a scorch too new to reveal a
pattern or a symbol, yet they matter to me
 & I to them. How? Why? As you said: They’re here.
We all came here. Whatever here is.”

We climb along in silence, somehow deeper
 than she’s let me before, stone stairs
become rocky paths become Woods whose
 warped gravity causes us to tangle among
vines & clamber hand by hand inches
 above an earth black & white braided.

Aunt lets go ahead of me, falling at
 a weird slant upwards through pale
trees, toward lights the color of black
 glaring stars. I take a deep breath,
let go, falling down upwards, the black
 lights careening at me too high
& low to elude.

Laid out sudden. In my mouth . . . wet sand.
 The air sniffs . . . like the sea? Sounds of breathing
above. With pain I nod, shakily raise up
 my hand. Mutterings, more hands than
needed lift me up. All of them. No Aunt.

Asoyadonna smiles my attention. “Aunt’s
 better at gifts than goodbyes.” Points me
to what lays moored in the shallows.

A boat. A great, beautiful boat. Our boat.
I say it aloud, to all of them, & awed
 happy, “Our boat.”
They nod, laugh, break from being the
 concerned group around me to the
resumed tasks of loading what we have
 into a long boat. I see my things
among the rest. We’re not going back.

“Thank you, Aunt,” I say, again aloud.
They pause, all of them, catch this,
 nod, laugh.

I tell you this story, Deidre, that first
 night we finally stayed together in my
tent. My claim for you made that night
 before all your camp, the men included.
Several coveted your high breasts, fine ass,
 trainable looking lips, but none to oppose me.
I loved you. I had a group of brothers who’d
 humiliated your brauny numbers.

After the first time, too quick & excited,
 & the later, slower, second time, we lay
together naked, clung wetly, & I told you
 what I could of who I was & why.

“The boat changed me.”
“How?”
I shake my head. “It was a home.
 No longer refugees with bloated ideals.”
“But where is it now?”
“Not far. Safe.”

Something passes across your face.
A fear. Then resignation? Then gone,
 your mischievous smile partnering your hand
on my new-hardening cock. Your love again
 to be eaten, licked, chewed wide open.

******

vi. The Path of General Warmth

I was long in my travels of those
 White Woods, alone, often near
to starving, & my proof of a world
 beyond my immediate one of
privation in the form of an occasional
 cackle burst from my mouth, but
not from my throat.

I skill enough to survive, retch
 at many tries for food, but nothing
poisons me outright. Takes me awhile
 to realize the cackles are advice,
nearing me toward edibles, water, safe
 shelters to sleep. I respond by hmmming
more, trying this strange tongue’s capacities.

More often feel watched as I hike
 along. Small Creatures trail me, allow
me glimpses but no more. I try hmmming
 toward them, but it is a clumsy
man’s fool incoherence, nothing as light
 & swift as their music.

The one in my jaw seems to understand,
 after her merry fashion. As I hike along,
pathlessly, she joins in my hmmming
more deeply, threads through it,
 braids us together, & so this crooning
more comforts, calls to her fellow
 Creatures. Nearer, my friends, nearer.

I find myself more rarely sleeping, often
 just a few hours before light, a few
intense hours to maintain my body,
 some brush & branches to cover my
torso slumped against a trunk.

I awake, shivering. Cold. The Creatures
 in my arms are shivering too, huddling
close to my chest for comfort. These
 magickal beings? Frigid & so helpless
to trust my strange man’s grasp?

A cackle in my jaw, something else.
 They were warming me too. This beautiful
White Bunny, this soft grey Hedgehog,
 these small pretty Giraffes, the many more
I would hold. They were cold. I was to help?

I didn’t know how. The cold was winter,
 & it would stay. I thought to build
shelter but these Creatures of the Woods
 were not pets, living tamely by firesides.
I needed an answer they belonged to them.

We hmmm’d together, for hours & hours,
 I let the voice in my jaw, & my own,
& these many other Creatures join
 deeper, braid deeper together, seeking
in this world, in these White Woods,
 the warmth they needed. A General
Warmth for all?

By light, & well into the night,
 we moved fast, traveling deeper &
deeper into these Woods. They grew no
 warmer though there were more
& more Creatures traveling with us.

“What is it? What am I seeking?”
 What am I missing?”
Cackle. Cackle.
“How do I help them? We move
 till exhausted, till we fall together,
or they slow for me.”
Cackle-cackle.

“These Woods endure. They endure!
 Roots deep in the earth, they warm
to the world’s deep heart, & endure.”
Cackle-cackle?

“We have no such roots as plants & trees.
 We move upon the earth, not rooted
deep to it.”
Cackle. Cackle. Cackle.

“Roots,” I say slowly. “Roots seek the warmth.
 Roots supplicate it. World asked, world gives.”

It’s still dark when I try this, & more
 Creatures than I can reck are huddled
around me. I think: if we are of
 this world, belong to it, then we must
ask of it our wish.

I say aloud, leaning upon that tree
 in the drifting darkness, “Cold. Cold.
Cold.” Something. Something. I gesture
 to my shivering companions. “Cold.
Cold. Cold.” Something. Something warm.
 My friends are warmer.

I think it because these White Woods.
I think it because these magickal Creatures.
I think it because the merry spectre
 traveling in my jaw.

I don’t know.

I teach these Creatures the word
 “cold” of my rude men’s tongue.
I conjure a communication.

“Tap your hearts, little Creatures, three times,
 & say or think, ‘cold, cold, cold.’
“Tap the tree near you, or the earth under
 your paws, & say or think, ‘cold, cold, cold.’”

It becomes the Path of General Warmth.
 I wonder if it is truly my gift to
these Creatures; how would I know &
 not them?

I never know. The spring comes again,
 in its time. The Creatures have adopted
me for my kindnesses, long forgotten
 I am a man, to be feared, to be fled.

Even tonight, this first night on our ship,
 already far far from land, I feel
the White Woods not so far, the hmmm
 of my friends still braids my heart,
my roots extend back there, & yearn
 toward the solid earth we will
know again.

Why did you leave me, little friend?
Why did you leave me?

******

vii. What the King Told

My brothers wanted to know what we
 sought, why, what we wouls do at
our journey’s end. I told what I had
 learned in the years before I found them.
It became a skein of myths we shared,
 lured by their power, repulsed by
their fantastical qualities.

That first day we met by that river, neath that
 great bridge, them looking still newly upon each other,
& upon me. We’d told our travels, struggles,
 how we’d started to find each other,
how we felt like brothers from our
 meetings. As evening came, I knew
they wanted more from me, bigger.

I stood up, motioned them to seat
 on the rocks & fallen trunks around
us. The wilds around us quiet,
 listening to us too, or finding us
of no consequence, settlings to their dozing.

“There is no one solid story of men &
 their origins, though countless those
you will meet with a claim to the truth,”
 I begin. They nod. Their faces still new
& strange to me, I feel like my claim
 to make is what I say right now.

“I was shown, as a young man, wondrous
 visions of an Island, & upon it a
great structure, a Gate, impossibly
 massive & old. Within it, a Fountain,
equally ageless. Paths further in,
 countless, perhaps the truths we seek
to be found there.”

Roddy & Odom scrape up wood for
 a fire. They’ve done this many times,
practiced moves, familiar, affectionate.
 Listening to me all the while, the fire
as much to warm our story as our
 later dinner.

“My travels took me to far & strange
 lands, where mention of this Gate
caused my hosts to tell their own
 stories.”

“They trusted you because you were seeking
 far for truths,” says Dreamwalker quietly.
“They told me because someone had to gather
 them together,” I counter. “I shared
what I had been told, & received more.”
 I pause, thinking. “I couldn’t confuse
my worth in collecting the stories with
 the stories themselves.”

There’s stew. We eat quietly. I will it
 by my own silence. A sweet-smoked pipe
goes around. Eventually I speak again
 as the stars roll in waves over the sky.

“There are many worlds with Gates
 like ours, wherefrom life is said to
emanate. Where raw materials of rock & fire
 & water ignite into growing life.”

“And men on each of these?” asks
 Asoyadonna softly. Her voice enthralls
me already, something in it. Something.

“No. Some worlds never grow up men
 on their lands. Those that do seem to have come
from a crisis on the first world of men.”

“Which is not ours?” asks young Odom.
 Wide-eyed as I was when first I heard
these stories. Till I heard their like over &
 over again.

“No. We are but one of numbers. The first world
 was dying & sent out a very few in many
directions, attracted by the distant beacons
 of the Gates, to arrive where men might
flourish anew. Each a fresh chance.”

I stopped. Enough for that first night.
 I knew they had all heard some of
these stories too. But there was more
 I would tell over time, & realize
none knew quite as much as me. I told &,
 when they asked, I told again.

“The Gate bonds with its world &
 what emerges fills its seas, its skies, its lands.”
“Why doesn’t this naturally include men?”
“Perhaps it does, in some forms, on
 some worlds. But not ours, nor many
like ours.”

“What do we seek on this Island,
 within this Gate?”
“A Beast. Deep in a cave.”
“Why?”
“For help.”
“What kind?”

Each asked me this, but I did not know.
 The Beast seemed the surest yet obscurest story
of all. Even my Creature friends would
 neither tell nor quiet silence. They’d turn
from me, sniffing & sniffing.

I kept to myself, I can’t say why for
 sure, that that far away home world
of men had also sent an arbiter
 for each of its new worlds. Able to judge, nay
or yea, the experiment. I’d been told
 this was for me alone, even among
the brothers I would find & travel
 years with.

I was told I would know her, would love
 her uniquely among all men. I was told
it was not the travels with my brothers
 would be my final test, but how I fared
by her.

Told in dreams—told in deep, hmmming
 drinks—told by those resembling my
Creature friends—told by those whose forms
 I could not reck nor remember—told
what I had to do—told not how—
 told these brothers I met that day
by that river would help, suffer for me & help.

I just knew, all those years, that you & I
 bound for each other, & you my chance
to save this beautiful world

******

viii. Wide Wide Sea

We traveled many places, my love,
 before the day we rode into my
old homeland & I first saw you.
 We traveled the wide wide sea for many
years, it seemed, with many ports of call.

Some a day or two, for supplies, &
 a stomp upon dry land. Some we
lingered, tempted not to return to voyage.
 We loved each other, we cherished our
mission, yet tempted, not often,
 but often enough. Depart the cage.

I wanted proof, for the others, for myself,
 that what we did was needed & right.
Wanted someone to show us, together,
 the demise of the world without us.
I sometimes felt far from those magickal
 Creatures in those strange Woods.

They insisted I take the captain’s cabin,
 bigger than the rest, to myself. My few
books & possessions, clothes, not enough
 to fill its spaces. Its bed stiff, not very
much to my liking. Better than the ground.
 Just four walls, a floor. A ceiling too, &
there where my adventures began.

A shaft of light, I discovered, ran from
 the sky itself through the deck & down
to where I lay unresting one day long
 out at sea. The size of a small coin
at best & yet how? At night too, my narrow
 view of stars. How did it come?

And yet no more than this for many
 months longer. Until one night
I lay abed staring up its length, letting
 myself believe I really could see
the night’s sky. A shadow crossed
 this darkness, back & forth, again
& again. And a sound. What? Listened.
 Thwump! Thwup! Thwup!

Strained ears, eyes, mind to know
 better, discern what this shadow.
Then a thought. A gift from Asoyadonna
 months back. Small grey sack of earth
Creatures. For her teas. Said, smilingly,
 “you should drink more often.”

Feeling surely a fool, I found this
 sack & made my fool’s way to the
galley to brew my tea. And return
 to my cabin unencountered. And sit
at my table, sipping my hot tea.
 And wonder that my great dreams &
visions seem to remain on this chance.

Returning to my bed, buzzing with tea,
 hmmming for sure, I try something
new. Keeping my eyes closed, I look
 up toward the shaft of stars. Still
hmmming, for comfort, I listen too,
 let myself ride up the shaft of night,
fail to resist its steady-on pull,
 throbbing with my hmmm, braiding us.

Thwup! Thwup! Thwup!  I rise & rise
 until sure I must be above the boat,
ascending the skies themselves somehow.
 The steady sound nearing me. Nearing.
Then something shiny up there, close
 & closer until I am hiding my face
 from our collision. But we don’t.

I feel paused, slowed, uncertain how one
 navigates this vision, if vision be.
Finally I think of my breathing &, remembered,
 it resumes. Find as I slow it, steady it,
my travel slows, steadies. Harder breathing,
 or my previous panic, accelerates it.

Something. Someone. I don’t seem to have
 words to speak so I conjure an image,
open hands, a friendly smile, curious
 eyes. By way of hopeful greeting.

Startles me anyway when I receive
 one in return. A great Beast? Winged?
Green scales, metallically shiny. Large,
 soft, intelligent, kind eyes. Like a kind
of Sea Dragon, I guess. Thwup! the sound
 of his wings in the night sky.

I tried to widen my breath, let my
 form fill out more, my hands,
my torso, feet & arms, legs & face.
 I begin to feel the cold of night
upon me, & the winds are throwing
 me around when he comes closer,
catches me up & upon his great head.

No words still so I rise up a smile
 in my mind. This . . . is it one?
yes . . . this great Creature is gentle
 yet more impossibly large & powerful
than I can imagine.

He loves to fly with me. Skimming
 the waves close enough to rain
my face laughing. Then up & up,
 & I swear up & up till our world
one more sweet speck among many.

Never a word between us, yet he is
 always ready when I call for him.
When the tea is drunk, when I need
 to be sure that what we seek
must be found, that what we do
 must be done.

I don’t tell my brothers of him.
 Not distrust. Not selfishness. Because
another gift the world intends me keep
 close. Remind me I am as apart
as a part. That the world gifts each
 of us uniquely, & ours to find the grooves
where we fit.

I wake that next morning, more up
 than I’ve been. More present, eyes hungry,
stomach a smiling maw. Share our
 breakfast on the windy deck as
not in awhile. Each of their faces
 beautiful, open to me, as open as
my secret night friend’s was. Alike.
 Skimming waters. Skirting stars.

******

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