All photographs: D.R. Wagner
NOTES FROM A JOURNAL
Trails led out of her eyes.
People were walking on them.
A few of the people we thought we
The moon, crooked behind
One man handles fire
With his bare hands.
He lifts it and puts it
Sells it to ladies
Walking down the strand.
There was a blue cherub
With purple wings
Who never quite made it
Into a song,
We waited as he tried and gave
Him our guides, so we may as well
Take him along.
He can ride in the carts that carry
the hearts, that bundle the darts
For the trade.
He can spot where the bridges
Have all fallen down. He will
Tell us of what they were made.
We stopped for the night beside
A stream of water just as the last
Light was climbing up the trees
To make its jump into night.
As it grew darker, the stream grew
Brighter and brighter and we could
See almost as well as in daylight.
The stream seemed to enjoy our being there.
No one had ever come this far into
The forest. In the morning the stream
Gave us fish, dappled like sunlight,
Sweet of flesh and eager to join
Us in making our bodies work.
When we reached far Marlee
We released many of the birds
We had brought with us from Gothurg.
They flew ahead of us, forming
The shapes of many creatures
As they did so. The people of Marlee
Could see us coming for miles,
As if a cathedral were walking
Toward them, singing the while,
Telling the tales of our journey
In stories that are still told today.
Two giants, squatting, eating flowers.
In the next moment they had become trees.