I am, not happiness
I am, not happiness
but always awake
inside the birdsong
at your dawn-darkened window, I am
as shadows in rosy white
the billowing curtains still
soaked in love’s night scent, I am
the layered air
in which you live
the weight of light years
exhaled in smoky shapes
of blossoms
and sorcerer’s wings
the shadows that circle
the Moon’s hiding side, I am
the dust
on your ashen face
the mysteries of image
dying leaves upturned
in dappled light
smiled upon
by a radiant glory, I am
that single step
into a shape of fallen Sun
a door cast open
on a wide and drowning sea, I am
the sound which beckons
clear and bracing cold
in the name of
your northern blood, I am
the rune that will remember
when you cannot
the taste of song
on your tongue
the terrible call to love, I am
the slayer of all that conspires
to keep you comfortable
in your grief, I am
the self you hanged
and the hanging survived
wearing this savior’s rope
ever forward, I am
for your sake
the eye of memory
keeper of the dream
I will not tell