Snow Leopard

soft, yet ... like a breath of Noshaq you are gone in a whisper bound for some dreamy realm (imagining) where exquisiteness affords you a throne in Valhalla you dance among these frosted peaks like Misha with the Mouse King prancing on a puff of wint'ry wind yearning for the bloom of early Spring the nuzzle of a warm nose or the easy gift of a frozen lake of swans hush, you ... about your business secret stories you tell to the mountain of visceral attentions, keen wondrous things that we lesser creatures will never be privy to - things that you find your common bidding but that fools like me - wholly taken with sublime form and ghostly airs - find spellbinding ... breathless enchanting ... you are a feral phantom demon and deity of a covert kingdom I am cursed to only conjecture on or put to inadequate word ... a magical dominion of deliberate and brutal elegance that has graced me with but a glimpse a rare, tender, precious instant blessed by the substance of a moment far too beautiful to ever capture.