From her place on my desk she watches
I can almost feel the look of power radiate
From that primitive womanly shape
I can feel a tension rising as I sit and wait
See the room wavering before my eyes
Dissolving shifting going walls fall down
I can feel a fire and earth hear grunting
Moaning from dancers stepping around
Under a dark autumnal sky
A ritual proceeds through its stages
Unrehearsed yet with that precision
That comes from the practice of ages
A massed sigh and through the gloom
A figure looms
And Shaman stands
Outstretched hands
Naked but for skin coat
Dangling stringed from his throat
Little naked goddess
My artefact of stone
Shaman gestures dissolves
Leaving me there all alone
Shaking my head in my little room
Wondering if what had seemed
To be so stark reality
Had all been vividly dreamed
From her place she watches
I am so aware of her so very near
One half of me fascinated by her presence
The other half full of dread and fear
