with wyrd, dream's
throng in thread
masking many within
that fabric of fate we are.
Flocks, herds, homelands
rushing, roaring streams
and wind-swept clouds
of storm's swarm of dancing gnats
cicadas buzz and hum the moon
at twilight singing. Being becomes
happening, happenings, journeys
and tests, trials and pleasures,
shrouded mirth at unveiled fruit.
All these fog-thread spun
in shining silk sewn tight :
a home, a ham hemmed close in flesh
by dear disir and norns in nether
lands of loved ones long ago.
So our fate we may fulfill.