strange in this forest I remember a forest other than this one and you it seems remember not. who then could say which dream is dreaming and which truth? if any were the truth still in oak's heart I feel the chill of northern night and I recall faun-fair fawn-frail and red libation soaking into ground whence things like dryads drink     northern spirits are more cold savor fair face frail memory as roots and worms savored the long-chilled spill of blood   and we incant him into being yet again here in our sisters' home. when have you seen him where no one of us was by? call out the color of his blood when so you've seen him: red, like the color of his eyes? others than we incant, decant him. we though alone harbor this memory pulsed bitter out with blood     northern spirits are all cold come to me then while you lie dreaming in our sisters' wood cloaked in just valor and knight's seeming it would seem that you remember not and I? I am see? he is/I am oak-warm and sleek-fawn innocent     warm as hearts are without heart's blood     August, 2000 "Evergreen" corvi_d@email.com [Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing List] [Krycek/Skinner] [Links] [Submissions] [Home]