Of what does the unicorn dream?
Does he envision virgin princesses,
pure and sweet
Trusting and innocent
With scented lap and gentle fingers?

Or crystal castles with vast stables
and endless meadows,
with sweet clover and spicy sorrel,
peopled with hands content to brush
and clean and worship the bright creature?

Or does he dream of darker things,
of war and separation,
of his virgin princess laid bare and ruined,
or his stables burned and raided?

Or does he dream at all?

Is it that he is so pure that he needn’t dream
Because he exists only in dreams?

At water’s edge the sun’s full glory break,
Audacious splendor splashing over sea,
As Helios’ chariot dances over wake,
In blazing cloud entrapped, now pulling free,
Down Daniel’s steps descending into deep
And setting fire to heav’n upon the way;
While Erebus with Nyx in darkness steep
The far horizon, veiling night from day.
And on the shore the salty grasses sway
In ev’ning breeze; their music softly sighs,
The sweetest sounds from slender blades arise,
The fading light transforming green to grey.
And thus descends the night upon the world;
The velvet darkness sweeps ‘neath wings unfurl’d.

At water’s edge is magic:
the constantly shifting line between solidity and restless movement,
between reality and dreams,
The water always in motion, even when calm,
the land quietly waiting,
the water overtaking land, signaling the need for catastrophic change
and other times gently rocking, comforting, nourishing
Water embracing land,
land supporting water.
Sound
and silence.
Calm
and storm.
Slow change or sudden,
the change is nevertheless inevitable.
At water’s edge is magic.