In the Atlas of Imaginary Places
there are dragons among the wet
damp caves between Forgotten Seas,
where the Circular River has
left a delta full of swift horses.
In the Atlas of Imaginary Places
there is an island where dreams
are scented with the flowers of regret.
Past there is a page that is Nothing.
It is an ugly place. It looks out on
Memory and is where the End and
Beginning were born. It tastes of
nothing at all.
This was a fragment I had in a journal. The publication VOLUPSA published it as such, for which I am thankful. Yet it feels unfinished to me.....maybe a tickle, a whisper. Imagine what could be on the next page of the Atlas...