Trail from Lizard Gate

by Jane Røken

I speak of the time when animals and humans still shared the same
language. When roads in the sky were known and not charted.
When Snake had a name, and Snake’s name was Spike. When fruit
grew from wisdom and not knowledge. When all was dreamt forth
by lizard on rock. We were fully winged then, and time was but
a hatchling. I paint orange eyes under my footsoles, wide open eyes
they are. I have liberty imaged on my shoulder. I mouth lynxspeak.
I listen to the deep breath of horses. I channel bats’ hymnals. I shift
time and shape. This is time. Lizard eggs are comets. Bodies of light.
Our dreams are round in more ways than one. I have Snake imaged
on my body. Stars are spinning wheels. Why do you fear them?
Why do you fear Spike? Snake is a spoke on the sparkwheel. I speak
of the time when we flew. When air was light. When rivers ran deep
and golden. Step out onto the water. Now. I think I can see you.