The Call...

A slow path
The nature of becoming
That which you may have been
Yet forgotten

Ordeals of dream
The knots tied to hold
The instant of a moment, everfast
Remembered in aether

Into darkened pool
She may drip the droplets
Of Wisdom borne upon Her children
From blue Athame

So gathered
We approach with reverence
Shades of reposed nightly delights
Clasped to the current