The muscles in my forearm ache, my fingers curl and grip the hilt
the weight of cold steel pulls at my grasp,
and I clutch, and hold my breath, to bare the weight of another world.
Here in the sharp edges of a glint and a silver shard of light
I lay hold of a small piece of myself that wains and faints but will never fade.
Who can see me now, when I can barely see me now?

Then there is the fire, the crackling dance of coals a midst the flicker and flight
of glowing cinders rising in the dark.
Smoke, the smell of it, the taste of it, fills the warmth around me;
my shelter from the ice of not yet, my guard against the cold of twilight.  
A wind blows and laced with the howling, I catch hints of spring.
I knew my self in the spring once, I was known in the spring once.

Where are you?
Can you be known here in the wood between the worlds?
Do you even exist in twilight?
Do I even exist in the twilight?
Where are you?