i journeyed to the oracle

beneath the Brine

beyond which nothing remains

and beginnings can be

plucked from the earth

like clovers

like fruit

so i asked,

what now?

barely recognizing

the remnants of my

own voice

what was my great mistake?

which storm sealed my fate?

was it ignorance?

selfishness? hubris?

i must learn the truth

so i can write a map, a warning

to ward the others off this path

the oracle gave a placid nod

and showed me a vision

of a child who

sat, alone, in a dim room

the curtains framed a sunbeam

in which little bright specks of dust

sailed, in that corner of the universe

where time did not abide, and

the hours somehow ran longer

these warm currents, she spoke

let them be your home, and fill your days

with sunlight and forgetfulness

seek warmth, she repeated,

and become perfectly
unmoored