It’s a quarter to pi, and the streetlights are out; glowing dreams and burning desires are the only light. Follow me, through the crack in the floorboards, behind the walls, into that land beyond the back of the cupboard. We’ll slide down midnight ways, into deep hidden realms, diamond dust prints through the mushroom forest to the shore of a sundered sea. Take my hand and we’ll dance up a ship of crystal and chimes, adamant sails to caress the night and draw us onward, onward, to forgotten empires, ghostly shoals, and the burgeoning, beckoning endless surf.
Then up, up, up the winding stair, now stone, now wood, now sparkling air, treading the path of a hundred billion souls who never were. A sacred sign beneath your feet, a lighted way in darkness deep, and fearsome death to left and right. Fear not. Hold tight. A synergy of power preserves, protects, propels, and soon all is light, and stardust, moondust, the dust of dreams and the cold pressed oil of wonders beyond our ken. A hundred singing towers upon the blue sands of distant everlen, a shivering symphony of alien tones, isolate one, then another, yet more, until the song is yours, and the door to the next mystery opens, beckons, a bright and shining gate, and we’re through, red giant eyes and comet tail hair and hand in hand and a kiss longer than the milky way and deeper than the sky.
Then down, down, through moon rings and sun beams and clouds, a rain of laughter, tears, iridescent motes of finely cut longings and the essence of desire, a powdered mortar of a million timeless moments, drifting, drifting, drifting, to this tiny space, this sliver of time, and the pi is only apple now, and the streetlights are back.