I stand at the edge of the world.
by Linda Marie Van Tassell
Mountains open onto the sea.
I cast my mind into the depths -
a line struggling to be free.
My thoughts walk under the ocean.
The thunder bellows mid the rain.
A sun of dark fire arises,
like life-blood boiling through a vein.
A red dragon tears through water -
a running gash of scarlet stain;
and the mountains shake to their roots
as molten lava breaks the chain.
Waves leap toward the sky in fear,
the world on the verge of ending.
The sea dropping back, turning black,
a road that is split and rending.
The fire is like a demon ship,
and the waves are foaming mad.
The sea flows beyond green mountains,
to the shores of Sir Galahad.
To nothingness and emptiness
and to the banks of Tripoli,
it moves speedily, like lightning,
under the mountains of the sea.
Lamps die like flowers torn apart.
A bang! A broken string and chord!
Chaos hangs at the hem of earth,
plunging downward like a huge sword.
A hand holds the ship, picks her up,
sands shift along the slope of space,
and the mouth of time breathes a flame:
a word, a wish born in her face.
The hand rises among the waves
with a great sleeve of curling foam,
sweeping over, enveloping
this planet Earth that we call home.
A million stitches come undone:
the world arches and the sky slopes.
Coronas, starbursts, and novas:
bursting, flaming, new life elopes.
The hands of fire return to rest,
slipping away into the sea;
and the world looks no different
to everyone else but me.
I walk under mountains of fire,
lay on the mirror of the sea,
the Goddess Pele - that is me.