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