Heels kicking up short-lived dirt swirls that hover near the feet to disappear into the next stride;
The inward turned palms hiding the crisscross of countless travels and travails-
their once soft ridges now hardened into rigid precipices, sharply dissecting the destiny inherited and created;
The wizened skin on his face stretches and sags – a time-worn canopy over a gaunt remnant of an ancient tree;
But his eyes- those glimmering tongues of his blazing soul, hide well their secrets…
To reveal in teasing moments when they look into you for fleeting seconds,
So that you can never be sure that you know…
Whether in a dream or when they held you in their glistening whirls…you will never know.
And then in a blink, they are gone.
And his mouth- its suggestion of astonishing softness refuting the story of his visage.
You watch it weave your spirit into every tale it utters,
It draws you such to the roads, the shores of lakes and oceans, the cliffs he has travelled upon,
So that you become the road, the shore, the cliff,
And watch him take you, yarn by yarn, thread by thread.
Enchanter, traveller, storyteller- which is he to you? You wonder.
But, when the warmth of his blazing dream-hearth touches yours,
In seemingly deceptive moments that pass in a blur,
Melting the cold fears of your unchartered realms without and within,
The mirror you look at every day will prove the most cowardly liar-
For it will only show that what the world sees,
Not the road, the shore ,the cliff that you have become…