Hy-Brasil

I wake with the words “Hy-Brasil” echoing in my ears and stereoscopic images clicking away in my head.

I know this place! I feel it.

White shredding mist drifts lonely down cobbled streets lined with clockwork towers whose ratcheting gears move ceaselessly, even now.

Exotic lightning towers spark and glow, powered by milky crystals as large as kettle drums.

A black moonstone temple, shedding paint and silver leaf, stands half-swallowed by purple- flowered vines as thick as a man’s wrist.

The vanished city calls to me. What does it want?

To find it…

or to remember?

I wonder…