On Night's Wing

I dreamed

her hair

poured, draping drunkenly,
through my foundling fingers;

ran, a stunned silk,
beneath my quenched lips;

spoke an elegant Farsi-
of great Priestess
conquerings told,
entwined the tale with
Kingly, honorable
surrenderings most masculine.

And I understood.

I dreamed

dark storms of song
danced delirious
in her great-dark eyes;
ghostly pasts hurtled wildly by
smelling of lost, black-red roses.

I dreamed

her strong, small hands
bled light in great, sweet swaths
drew mercurial tears from
my much amazed eyes
and coaxed light laughter
from my howl-torched throat aloft.

I dreamed

a jasmine scented
amulet dangled from her
lithe and lovely neck.


Then she said my name,
soft,
beneath her breath,
as it,
strong and simple,
sang its prayed,
protective note.