Don’t climb up those ancient stone steps
carved into the slope of our tallest mountain
up to that egg that sits on the summit,
the size of a temple. You don’t need
to draw those eight strange instruments
or watch them hover in the air before you
to play a melody you always knew, no
hands strumming strings, no breath over
the reeds. You could simply stay here.
Isn’t it better to remain safe within
the dreaming, even if it is not your own?
Don’t you want to leave the Wind Fish
sleeping? I know you will tell me it is
your destiny, whatever that word means,
you bear the triangular mark after all.
The legend will be retold another time
in different lands, remote and distant.
You and I will be similar but seen
through convex mirrors, the same parts
but remixed. So resist the urge to be
a hero. Stay on this island built
from the shimmer of surf and dreams.
Linger a while by the regular waves.
Let the story be passed to another.