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scrying scraps

… whilst he sits quietly on a park bench in a drab grey suit, grey blue eyes looking blankly around as twilight draws near, parents & children & joggers & loafers & walkers with dogs are not aware of him, as he seems to shift otherwhen through ye rifts...

… as tracing a way over a map, he walks, tracing the grassy tracks, dwelling on the windy crossways, crossing wooden bridges & crumbled ditches, tracing on along the tracks, standing still over the throbbing dewy green turfy triangle between two crossways,...

Although middling & unapparent, undescried & silent, he is there, sometimes wistfully smiling, waking awareness wholly unaware of his presence, though he is aware of everything which is there or not there, everything which should, or could, or might be...

… for a long time a spy on her land, on the mysterious sea lit by stars … … built there a temple dedicated to the underworld gateway —a sacred spring or well, a cup, attended by a sisterhood of nine for those who sail towards the mysterious realms and...

stars/sky/sea/the land—wells and springs scanning strangely through a dim dark doorway dreamily steering towards a shape-changing sea stars/sky/sea/the land—wells and springs ghostly doorkeeper of the goddess knowing the ways of the unknown stars/sky/sea/the...

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