It is when spirit has released its
circle into a sea of impetus-
the will of force, to start and end
a journey past, and then begin again.
Traditional spells aside,
with much to abort and to abide,
to assuage the widow moon's bridge-keeper
with bribes of all that you promise her.
Lest you wade the murky depths in the
guise of an albino salamander,
avoiding consumption while traversing
the maze of surface fires
that block the way, and flotillas of
their tentacles rife with voltage
to your slithering canopy.
And from the mantle of your blindness
you sense amidst the current
a jagged danger on the far side
where brittle struts from bone of baleen
threaten to sabotage the integrity
of your shape-shifting escape.
Little-known the consequences.
No book of shadows to guide us,
nor the written divination of runes, or
reed scriptures from the after world.
The encryption simply reads that
there is nothing more, once it is begun.