Faerie Ring

Float now, a dry, dead leaf cast away
And find the thermal:
The imperative rise and movement
Which sweeps us along
Carrying us above on dusky wings
To chain us to the rocks, our place
In the gears of this timepiece,
Caught by the tiny teeth
To be part of the machine
Or torn by the movement,
Lost either way,
For we are not our own
But the child or changeling
Of the moment
Caught by the blackened faeries and sprites
Of this time and place

In the beckoning light of the sunrise
There is ultimately magic or sorcery
In the early dew of morning;
We are lost in the grey haze
That masks the clarity of our vision.