the age of myth

This world is a terror
of unexplained. A crack
and a splitting of night
-time sky. The light
comes in flashes
that clarify
human heart,
as they terrify
mortal brain.

As we scatter -
each everyone
for itself -
tearing down every path
we can find in the dark,
we race and we crash,
we collide on tracks
and we hide in caves,
never knowing our part.
And to us, this is home.

This world, this life
as the ones who we
fleetingly love and know,
die desperately hard!
We live desperate and fast,
knowing only today, knowing now
won't last.

So we make up a myth. We huddle
in close. We bind up our wounds,
we sharpen our spears, and
we gather round fire.
We have found we can make
our own light, if we try
- we begin to see clear.

We begin to make sense,
in the stories we weave,
of what you mean to me,
and why we bleed.

And here in my tribe,
you are. So high -
in wisdom, esteem
- a priestess indeed.

A teacher in word,
in gesture and sign.
In feather and dress,
your dance is mine.

In wood and in flesh,
with sigil and scrawl,
the totem and fetish our hearts enclose
will take root and plant seed,
in nature and sky.
In cloud and in ground,
our science grows

and in time, conquers all
as we stretch and we yawn
and we turn to turn in,
pulling dreams in close -

and from eye to eye glance,
and from mouth to mouth smile
in creating the truth

that everyone knows.