Thinking of You
(To WH)
The good fire is quenched, the good spirit withdrawn,
when arrives what I fear:
a gathering of crows in this nascent light
as a glimmer in the shadows heralds my rise. So what if my veins run with blood my own
instead of yours? Who dare proclaims me a breed
apart or ordains me priestess in this burning unfaith? Stories were worth it, you said, for drawing upon
the mythic unbound could magic the spirit dark.
I call to you now, oh best beloved and now most unbelieved
Who are you now, today? The vast raiment of your mind itches
on the flesh of their puny desires. Now we see you, now we don't:
Consummate conjurer you, stick to your joyous song
while we search and search our earthbound sorrows. And here I remain: I claim you for my own,
Oh, old man with restless feet, as you wander off to paths
yet unknown, I walk anew the silver bridge of hope,
the whiplash of reason emblazons my back. So tell: what other defense have we against the glowering dark?
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