The Soul Is A Magician. Only Living

There Was No Violence, No Speed. It Moved To The Rhythm Of An Elder Dance, Putting All The Rituals Of The World To Shame. Black, Silver, Gold And Moon-opal, Night And Sea, Fire, Earth, Air And Water.

It's Lovely. I Hate It.

She Looked, And A Scarlet Butterfly Flew Away From Her, Away Down The Length Of The Tower, And Then Another, Another, An Unraveling Scarf Of Butterflies Like Winged Blood.

If You Run Away From Trouble, It Always Follows.' Rather My Impression, Too. Though That Never Stopped Me Trying.

The Soul Is A Magician. Only Living Flesh Hampers It.