Seven Directions

I find myself in quiet corners

capturing wayward lines on discarded napkins

or random library slips, realizing

there is magic to corral and wrestle upon the blank space –

the image of a modern day Pan

playing his flute upon the damp sand

of a log strewn beach,

gently swaying and twirling underneath the morning sun,

the silver of his otherworldly instrument

flashing upon every turn, hypnotizing the unaware.

There is enchantment sowing its undulating spells

across the land in seven directions,

enveloping those who take the time to really see,

who can seek a truth and watch the lies that some men tell

with their black hearts still beating,

burn to ash and fall away.

A peaceful spot in Stanley Park (Vancouver, B.C.) near Lost Lagoon.