I. The First Conversation

A white eagle circled, serpent in its claws,
the dogs of the town all howled and hid under porches;
Hairs prickled on the backs of necks and
the daemon was near.
The wells of the town pumped blood
for the remainder of that day
and blind men could see,
but what they saw was not the earth:
A shadow realm
from whence the daemon came,
a place of haze where no right angles are present
a skewed horizon, speckled with petrified trees.
Infinite space,
frictionless surface,
dark viscous liquids,
and hazy shadows, all slide across the coaxial plane.
Where the shame of the daemon
burns upon a Sea of Fire.