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The Hermes Bird’s Song

I walk in possibility, along the edge of coming night

as if along a polished steel-fine blade. I hear you speak my name

in the hushed resounding whisper of a thousand beating wings,

and my world darkens around you– stronger still than pain, or fear.

your bird-dark eyes send thunder through my blood;

and, swallowed by your words, I learn to dream.

your breath keeps me alive, so reeling drunk on fire-touched dreams

of crimson loss and aching victory. your heartbeat sounds the rhythm of the night,

and bodies dancing homage, spelling glory with the fury of their blood.

the sweat, the shine, the color of their tribute– I recognize their song– a name–

my own. a wave of knowing swells beneath my heart, dispelling fear;

myself in waking slumber, sheltered here beneath your wings,

and you, offering me the sky, the toss of clouds and flocks of rustling raven wings

and lifetimes born of wind. you fashion triumph out of sea-salt dreams

and grant my only childhood wish. lost in you, I can forget the fear,

the doubt, the glistening loneliness. there is no memory of sleepless lighthouse nights

or wandering beachside evenings in the rain. in showing me your name

you have given me my own, and I would surely spill my blood

and fall for you, if you should ask. can you refine such blood

as mine from thin mortality to the rich and ageless power that takes wing

behind your eyes? can you lace your smoldering fire into my name,

into my heart, into the hands that hold my sword? take my dreams

and make me yours, speak to me with a voice as full of promises as midnight,

as old as flame, as bittersweet as a beloved’s tears. I fear

that I have known so little of love, only the sick heart-tremble that is fear,

or the heat of sweet familiar hurt, the quickening pulses of the blood

of bodies come together– and yet you wring devotion from me, dark as night,

and here I am, untrembling, at your feet. flight is for cowards or for those with wings;

you know that I will stand my ground. while others may pine and dream

of a glimpse of your hand, I will look upon your face and speak your name–

such perfect agony, your wine-color lips to kiss away my pain, and breathe my name,

as if to lose me were the only thing you fear.

I do not ask for truth; I ask to serve; I ask to live forever in this dream.

for you, I leave behind the echoes of myself, the ones whose faces dim like drying blood,

and all I can recall is feathered brilliance on your mighty wings

buoyed up and borne away into the broad unfolding night.

I have forgotten so many names, written gold and fading in my blood

beyond the knife-edge of fear. In the shadow of your spreading wings

I find myself– your dream my dream, and I must be your knight.

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