guenevere

this morning's lute-strings
ladled music into my soul
Lancelot, it was you
who made me wish so long ago
that all mornings could be musical.
Well look, now I found one without you
and without him.
I lingered in a pocket of the world
where time flowed from my fingertips,
following each delicate cadence
of bird-song in the linden trees.
For once, my love was free to give,
so I gave it to the sky -
but then the treetops rained it back down to me,
and the winnowing wind, he whispered,
"Give it to your knight, my love."
So here I am,
on the edge of thought and time,
the sword of the sunrise -
I have considered your request.
You are wrong
about time leaving me behind,
but how true it is
that the throne is meaningless.
Maybe all that I will do
is give a message to the birds,
and if they chance to find you -
If I chance to find you -
through the message of a thousand wingbeats
and fierce claws that block out the sun -

my dear, you will know me by
the steady darkening of the sky.