I came singing
Pushed through the water
I came dumb
Without a man on my side
I drifted downward
From the moon
With every indication
This city would be mine
I came to under the mirrored water
Blue-black wings shining
Feather issuing streams of light
I came in the Mother's toothed ******
My black eyes blessed with insight
I came alone, with brave words
For speeches
And a riddle from the Unicorn
To solve
I came with a curse on my head
And gifts to bestow on mankind
I came with a song etched in stone
I came valiant
I came meek
Crawling backward like a crab
In the sea foam
I came heart broken
Without weeping
Clothed in rags
And precious stone

They come to the Garden
One by one.
With a gentle lion by my side, and a
Brilliantly colored peacock strutting
Close behind me
I meet them each night beneath
The beaming smile of sister moon.
I shake the stardust from my hair;
I am the creature that absorbs all light;
I greet them as a man, though I might easily
Descend from the currents, gently coming
Down, a creature on the wing.
They come to me mute, tongues silenced,
And I see the desperation in their eyes.
They come to me because they have
No words.
Far below the surface of this world, at
Its hollow core, Chronos keeps watch
on his giant clock.
He strokes his long white beard, and
Sips the steaming contents from his
Jewel- bedecked goblet, the clock resounding
with every tick and tock and the inhabitants
Of this lost city let it rule them with its
Rigid demands.
The clock tells them when it is time
Time to sleep and when it is time to rise.
It tells them when to eat and when to make love.
It even tells them when it is time to die.
And should one try to break free of the bond
And the weight that keeps them enslaved
Their heartbeat, loudly beating its own time,
Would be silenced by the others who fear
Its heresy might lend itself to chaos and
Threaten their order; or incite the old god's
Wrath.
In all that dark and stifling world there
Is only one place outside of Chronos' reach.
It is my realm; a place untouched by solid
Things, existing only in a thought, a wish,
Or a dream.
It is a Garden where we, the First dwelt,
Naked and innocent before death appeared
To stake its claim.
And I, a descendent of that primordial couple,
Am a creature of infinite faces and unknowable
Names; and each night they come to see me,
Bringing Gifts, simple things made by grateful
And earnest hands.
In return I give them a word, a word never
Known to any in their world.
This word comes to them like a whisper, and
Grows in their minds like the fruit of
A Timeless Tree.
I am the one that pulls words out of that dark
Place; I am full of words, the last of my kind,
A race that had made our Kingdom out
Among the far stars.
My kind were the keeper of words and in our
Minds were kept the history of worlds
Both ancient and new.
The lion purrs, yawns and stretches. And
The peacock spreads its plumage like
A dark and shining rainbow.
And I bestow on them the Gift.

Words.
So filled with power.
Of magic.
Coming up and out
Of the Mystery.
Naming things.
Rooted in the
Glowing mists of dream.
Priceless, a great and shining
Gift: words.

I am not those lips that
                  drink death
                   I am the constellation
                    of a sky full of black birds
                    only solitude is real;
                               when the claws that
                                 rip and tear
                                 cannot get past the locked door
                     until I am ready to wear the mask again

I hear it in the twilight there; the
Head of Orpheus singing
It comes out of the black earth shining
Wrapped in a cloak of shadows
Who can trace it or predict its path or flight
Ink stained wings beating the air
In the clap and the step of the flamenco
Dancer
The last breath of the bruised guitar
The hand of the trembling poet who
Channels lightning terrible and swift
It moves in creation as well as destruction
The onyx statue that waits in the desert
To be worn down by wind and sand and Time
The canvas of the purple and yellow dawn
And the artist that summons it like a daemon
The fallen angel polishing the skull of a once
Great King
In crypts and cathedrals
In chapels and temples
And the sacred groves when so moved to
Animate and waken there where it dwells
In the deepest recess of the mind
I call
Do you hear me my secret twin?
I summon, I invoke you
I break these manacles that enslave
You to Time
I free you from the battlefields where
Blood and bone stain and scrape
Consecrated ground
Come and invigorate these pale limbs
Brink your black fire and death song
To all who seek to know your name