Poem:
Waking During The Night Of The Eclipse

Introductory Remarks
“That song is called ‘Oh shadow’”
She steps off the blanket and into the gloom
What is rarer, woven baskets, red plaster?
Here, listen, I will tell you your doom
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Image
A boon from the king of the sea
The older sibling of your past given up
From the bosom of a deep water roiling
You take them in your hands and they shrink to a figurine

Screaming in the air of the plantation
A hot fire cooking the sky as it falls
In the dusk of the highlands south of the cold
Where one’s breath is usually so humid

And one more place, this, the hall
In a mountain a gathering, a company of kings
A hidden room, full of images without life
Whose eyes you don’t usually see

But here are their eyes:
They know the world is an ocean.
They breathe air like they’re choking on fire.
And sadly and quietly they tell you they must
Draw their sword if you are to live.

Many kings, right? Is this how much you love them?
Enough to grab their arm and stay them from hell?
Enough that when they lock jaws and regard you
Your eyes bite on theirs and their faces go pale?
Or resistant and languorous; lush, hateful, hale…

Portent
Dismiss this, fair one, young one of poor hand
Once, climbing across a board of father’s make we turned from each other
And hear this, Lord Duchess wyvern, stick-brittle tree
Twice did I look upon you, and here- what I see:

1. Gathered together all fruits of your harvest
The famine comes in the form of a plague
A weathered face grows white in the moonlight
Of the lamp of cracked chalk and old age.

2. Or cloistered in holy! So there’s this, there’s this too
On the wall, mural, blood; voice of wind.
Demure you walk, hands together, you listen, you grin
As the spirit lover of your spirit teases you.

Challenge
Smoke the ash and be given: a river of truth
It is this: that our land is assailed.
One awake wakes at last. Yes this, always last…
Waking always, always… Your head rolls!

– One guess, prophetess, as to the festering mass
Of morning clouds overshadowing the moon…
– One guess, prophetess, as to the path through the dream
That you took as you slept, for you know…

That these maps to the living
They are writ knowing love
Yet you wake to the smoke
Of a death, dark above…
What is this… What is this…

I will tell you:
It is this, sister, flesh, and this I will say
And saying it once I will go on my way.
I will leave.
When you’ve woken to darkness you’ve woken to life.

When you’ve woken to day you believe.