Traveling deep,
Through strange dimensions,
The mystic bag lady shakes in the cafe' chair.
If I could truly see,
Would I see majestic tides and swift currents she rides?
Would I glimpse ancient gods,
Gate keepers of nodd?
Would I forgive the strange discomfort I feel watching her convulsions in the outdoor chair of the cafe?
The witch's path can be a stumbling one:
Dark with the shades of myth, legend, and totem,
Bright with the knowledge that burns through from mystery to compelling mystery.
Ah, she's back from the otherworld, ordering coffee,
Not a stroke or heart attack,
No overdose.
May the Earth bouy her up, always.
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