Directions From Dreamtime:

Go to the same address
then down 1,000 stories.

Going back to the Beginning
before the beginning
when Nothing had a name

but everything had voices
for singing, stumble

 

upon a boy
alone in the forest
playing guitar, revealing such

intimacies you can only
watch sideways, hidden among leaves
as the music takes you into
his whole.

Then run deeper and through

a violet door between pine and oak
and enter a gingerbread house
where now free lovers
at birth were welcomed

by a witch so hungry to eat
sweet innocence
but children being tricky

with locks on cages escaped
so for thirty years
she has been slow cooking
on the flame
and the children are grown now
yet linger among the cookie

crumbs, holding hands, awaiting
the main course
and dancing circles
around the oven.

Then open the door slowly
and enter through
hot embers clinging to your

robes, your conical hat burning away.
Skin and fat bubble
and burst, juices

flow, basted in your blood
made savory.
Through fragmented eyes
watch as the Children
of Light wipe you from
their lips with kisses.

Back again
to the beginning.

There was a flute
and a mermaid playing
and her lover praising
her Beauty.
And everyone took turns
sitting on a golden ball
that bloomed petals
while each Buddha beamed
and miles away
a single voice
balanced on a precipice
not realizing
he was smiling
as he fell over the edge
scattering coins.