I sat amongst the women
the folded velvet skin of their faces
assuring me of Time

The red bus, packed with women
with their bolins and their weavings
their cups of heavy wine

Pantacle eyed, and green and wide
hers were
I fell inside
ablur, and she was starting to stir
something ancient in me

A gentle cackle
as we landed at the stop
this gaggle of aging silver-strawed beauties
no other man saw
but I

Arm in arm we wandered down
the grassy hill all stiff with frost
They knew the way -- were never lost
hundreds of years hence
from hither, whence

Down into the deepest wood
near caves awash in vine
a stupendous shrine
Then laying down, the Crone was mine
But, Crone with Maiden's eyes ashine!

Her miracle tress, I'd never guess
combined in form, divine
Intoned the words sublime

The chanting rose, in time
Then Pan came bleating,
woe the crime, his holy bleeding
became mine!

The circle of the aged, did unwind
and turn to luscious maidens in their prime!

I cannot tell, initiation quells
the tongue, that bell unrung
But, oh what lives in mind!

Ancient vistas spill into my eyes
Silence is more wise than we know
and grieves her chance to show
how Fools devise demise, so slow

A century at least, I tarried there
amongst Hecate's minions, oh so fair
Think I am here in words, or in form wandering there?

Ah, yes ... my home is where
my lovely Paterson roams
in Eternity, and Evermore is fair
lovely Queen, who gave me dream
and the hand to wake it!

AOS © from an unpublished astral memoir