Threshold of Transformation

I’ve arrived
City of Lucid dreams
Before me A building
Looms caked in Inky grime
The act unknown
Actor in sleep
Here I enter
And here I see
The circle and
Bones made in haste
The winds to Anoint the
Faithful
Amorphous specter turns
From old to new
Rests in faith beside me We wait for the quiet fire
To be born and there it is Embodied by a boy
His voice small and grey
Whispers smoke to the chosen
Upon our heads
He places crowns
Sewn with hiss and higher tones
The boy presses whispers into her
And they bathe in valley’s pale rain
Rain