To my favourite Taurus for his gift of courage, on what would have been my father’s fifty-fifth birthday—

Lying next to him, taken by my immediate • sleep mixed with delirium deep into a singular • vision, I visited before it was written this • poem languishing as an idea waiting to go • out from the City of the Pyramids, peering • at a glimpse of my own mind being • •

cleansed of all reason, brightening wit into enlightened • writing pulsing as lightning does from some hidden • god’s undefiled fingertips, wisdom communicating itself boldly but • only through incisive symbols cutting up the fading • backdrop of complacent consciousness with razor-edged teeth of • diamond biting through the velvet abyss with sloping • •

walls of liminal crystal defying æthyreal blackness glistening • tips of misted apexes topped with shimmering, golden • crosses glowing flashes of vibrant insight guiding me • along the inkwell of the desert’s dark mirror, • called forward, onward toward those triangular spires within • whose resonant chambers there were hearts of rose • •

residing, hidden from none, knowing their only witness • was night, beating fragrant verses against the glass • walls of which the soothing sound of your • cool voice rushed as does fresh water falling • over rough stone fear’s tongue of fire scorched • since before peace was born, unfinished monuments to • •

being alone its calm softens until hard truths • transmute to whispered words easier to swallow, accomplishing • in a moment what no one could æons • before, from the hallowed temples of these vibrating • terraria I heard you talk new gospel, saying • that the sacred is not always ancient, but • •

the great work is to make it work • with him, to tell tomorrow the whole world • of this other one I experienced without leaving • my own, a reflection of heaven a hand’s-breadth • between it and earth, for wherever I am • that is my home, my solitude my companion.