It was grist to the mill, bait for the tiddlers
This  wheel-in, on-line world,
But Stumpy knew, well, he sort of sensed
That the trails of electrons on a phosphor screen
Swept and danced to a tune unheard
To all but the faerie-blessed, and he strained
Oh, he strained to hear …

The meanings came, as secrets do
To a mind that has soared and burnt,
Ideas obscure though always bright,
Harmonies quite old, yet new; unnoticed whispers
Waiting for an ear; aromas from tomorrow's past
And tastes once spiced with fear; moments of clarity so weird
That visions capered in the air, then fled, as visions do.

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