The Retort

Beaming from the mountain
The cynosure of blue,
A gem alive in its face
Is calling out to you.
It gleaned from aged paper
The wisdom of the trees
Like a sailor from the future
Who finds at last the sea.
It came here ragged, foreign,
From raging, deepest blue,
Arose unknowing, circumspect,
As fish are wont to do.

So gather all your tools
And scale the ancient stone,
Old ghouls clinging to your heels
Whose measure is unknown.
And gather all your talents,
Your solitude and pride
As alchemy shames the miracle
Into merchandise.

Some streams fly strange -
Continually in two -
Look at their signals, secrets!
Of what the worlds will do.
Sometimes I find old poems,
Uncanny, lilting, blue
And always strain to end them
Yet, suddenly--