SpecialAgentLira

Peering inside, Danion saw the Gardener sitting cross-legged on a bench. She held her empty wooden bowl in her hands and was gazing into it, tilting the bowl this way and that. As he watched, Danion realized that a tiny tongue of fire flickered in the bowl. It danced up to the rim each time the Gardener tilted the bowl. The flame did not scorch the wood at all. Danion was fascinated. After a few minutes, the Gardener looked up at him. "Would you like a closer look, little one?" she asked. Danion jumped a little. But he went into the shadowed space and stood before her. They both looked down into the bowl. Now there were two flames, flashing

Pale light, earth-ended, feather-dapples descending lines, shudders in small streams, trembles under tree-shadows. Listen to the rain. It reddens inside bellies, blackens under the scatter-strewn stars, it silvers with wind, turns black with reflected sky. It gathers in old wolf-tracks, white as dawn. Lines of rain spatter green over hilltops, melt blue sky into bear shadow, shape snow into pollen into orange sand into red clay. Red-handed, conspiring in whispers, shaping light into night, wind and cloud scatter-sow pale seeds in the black sky— pale seeds to flower once, just once— as pale earth-ended light, r

Give me a fearless sun rising rising rising up ascending like the gleaming glass eye a marionette's steadfast stare flashing the spotlamp's glare back into the blank faces gathered 'round to watch the show. Then give me clouds rushing rushing rushing in a coalescing pool of inks all colors a bleeding rainbow streaking down the canvas being painted on the sly by the exile with a message to share. And then I'll serve up the thunder rumbling rumbling rumbling on raging like artillery big guns slaughtering the enemy those dark-eyed shadow lurkers who secretly desire only that their children survive this war.