“I said to Dawn: Be sudden – to Eve: Be soon; With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over from this tremendous Lover –” Francis Thompson, The Hound of Heaven, 1917
I long heard your laughter,
your bubbling, roaring mirth
a sky-ringing descant,
a wild echoing arc.
I followed you home, relentless
I sought
until you found me.
I was
your morning sacrifice.
Across the stone of release I lay, stunned
that you would meet me, knife
in hand.
You ran
your blade deep,
found
my star-heat
distilled
my bones
poured
their strength back
into my right foot, the single cold foot
that stepped me toward you
on that first morning when
Joy caught fire.
