One night as i lay
in the calm of night with sleep abroad,
came the familiar inky voice,
esoteric, imperial.
And i grew wings and flew
to the past and the future.

The past was like the midnight's sun
on the day of Joshua's call,
the future was like darkness at noon
on the day of black sun,
and from the present, all drabness fled.

Then i knew that the best means of travel
was neither by air, nor land, nor sea,
but by my wings that grow
when the inky voice calls.