The Staff and the Silver Cloak

One step,
Right foot in.
The large white room
Commands the din.

Motion
Turns to
Gestures.

Speech
Diminishes to
Silence.

The Centre
Gives way to
The Flame
And in succession
The Corners too
Align.

Feathers take flight
Settling upon
A Silver Cloak
Whole one moment
A heap the next.

From the Flame
Rises
A Staff
Jeweled
With emeralds
And studded
With sage.

A second step in
The wind wisps
Through his hair
Then all is still.

The Cloak
And the Staff
Levitate,
Encircle
The young one.

With the third step,
He turns around
Wielding the Staff
Draped in the Cloak
His eyes reflecting
Resolve
His being emanating
Warmth and newness.

The last step
Grounds his Will
A breathe of relief
Overcomes him
As the Walls'
Sage pores
Reminds him
Of Home.