Dreams are like the old stories where wolves are seekers always running, and women carry fire in their bare hands and light the dark paths before them.Old stories hold that the birds will fly all the miles of the world to tell your secrets to the rising moon, and men will walk over oceans of ice to find one truth.

We are all of lifewho stepped from the seatrading weightless journeys of the currentsWe are all of lifewho build and tear down and build againto find gold and silverto find scars that weep and bleedto step from the seato stay with the sea

Here,” he said, “I place the man I was aside the man I am now. And we have not the same hope nor thought, yet are one continuous breath from the body of I, Akiyama Akio.

If the loving ones look on magic as evil then the evil doers shall win. For you are turning your back on the life forces themselves, and you shall be weakened by your fear, thirsting for the elixir. Those who would do evil do not fear the forces, they consume the elixir unabated. They are not living in fear of themselves.

The storms inside uncoilinto sky held calm by far seeing eyesMemories dressed in the translucenttrickery of the mind,so as to wear life upon themselves,give up their tired dance and runinto free frequency

WINTER'S GHOST:Autumn moonincautious in the dark riverWinter’s ghost walkswith a covered faceand silver bones wait in all animalsto be bone cloth upon her shoulderwait for her happiness in that they are silver

The fires of nightthrough distance danceghosts who still know how to sing

Demon,” the woman spat onto the road. “Well, girl, thank you. I grant no one’s wishes and so you mark me ‘demon.’ I grant no wishes and I do as I see fit to be done. I will not answer to you, girl, nor to any one of yours, but I will always look. I am not the one who turns away.