Where mists of silver robe the pilgrim road,
I found a door within the night that sings;
Its lintel carved, an omen of abode,
And laughter rose as if on unseen wings;
There beat a hearth whose coals like roses glowed,
And reined-in Time bowed low and rest bestowed.

The boards swung wide, a whisper: enter, wait,
And candles flamed to music of desire;
A gargoyle spout breathed alchemy of late—
Soft smoke curled up as if from Cupid’s lyre;
Transmuted tears to gold within the fire,
And named me brave who dared the inward choir.

Above the bar, the thoughtful goddess’ brow,
The arctic curtains trembled into glow;
Stern Pallas watched, as if she would avow,
While ravens, warned by wisdom, would not show;
My heart, once winter-locked, regained its throne,
And ruled the hush with warmth it called its own.

I ate from plates that seemed of morning’s glass,
And drank a night that tasted bright as prayer;
The throng, unyoked of debt, let all things pass,
While pixies salted joy into the air;
With manna-clear and amber, feast increased,
Till hunger knelt, delighted and released.

The Moon's Command

A cavalier whose plume is ash and rain courts storms and kisses the tempest's hand.

The clocks unhooked their hands from mortal walls,
And set the hours adrift like lanterned seeds;
Untraveled ways grew green through open halls,
And truth came dressed in simple pilgrim’s weeds;
I learned the tender grammar of our needs,
And wrote my soul in what the silence reads.

I have kept watch beneath the moon’s command,
A cavalier whose plume is ash and rain;
I courted storms and kissed the tempest’s hand,
And every wound returned to me as grain;
For love’s deep field is fenced with living reeds,
And peace climbs out where faithful labor bleeds.

If you, dear wanderer, have known this ache,
The candle’s hush that wraps the heart in balm;
If moonlit doors within your dreaming wake,
And all your scattered breath returns to calm;
Draw nearer, friend; let silence tune the lyre,
And lean with me into the waiting fire.

For ink is mercury that seeks the star,
And words are leaves that set the soul to gleam;
I write; the line writes back; we are not far
From arches where the elder heavens dream;
The moon and sun, by odal’s braided sign,
Make twinned horizons answer: thine and mine.

Now take my hand; the tavern walls take wing,
The pages lift; the ink turns auroral;
We step inside the stanza’s living spring,
And feel our pulse become the poem’s choral;
Until no I remains, no you apart—
We are the road, the door, the wine, the heart.

So let the rune within our breaths ignite,
Let every star accord its ancient part;
What once was text now opens into light,
And gilds our joined horizon, heart to heart;
The spell completes: your name and mine unite,
And time bows down to bless our single rite.

-- Jeffrey Phillips Freeman