You are Gone.
Crumbled into ancient stone --
                        Risen in dust-vapour of bone --
            Spiralling
into glittering dark.
As the leaves embrace the earth --
with red tears.
            You appear once more,
answering the season with triumphant gold, streaming towards me in all your glory.
Richest rain.

Led by ancient malice. Your journey began.
            You were sent to die.

Glassy green eyes of cool reflection
            would not see this.
Fires of the deep dark places
            would not see this.
Tales borne by the layered air
            would not see this.

            As I struggled you were not taken from me ...

Writhing, twisted.
                        A strangled rank cry.
                                                          She fell.

A chrysalis, from the gnarled black,
light sprang, muscled feathers
unfolded --
baptised by evil blood,
he was pure, swift --
carrying you to me.
As the blood dripped from your bag
                                                          each tiny drop
fell
            into
    the
foam,

unfurling little fists --
fragile coral the first the world had ever seen.

My
                                                          exposed
flesh cried out to you dressed by jewels.
He would not let me live.
My flesh curved                     away from him under its iron bandages.

You gazed,
                                                            frozen
in the air and saw --
me.

I was meant to die.

But your veins ran with flaxen love,
            and would not see this.
He fell.
We rose cushioned by salty air -- lost in amazement of each other
and returned.

Grasping hands
greeted you but you drove them away
to touch those which had
rocked your childish dreams.
You journeyed on, but seen by primeval,
                              lidless eyes
your grandfather died
you wept. Unable to forgive,
yourself, but years passed --
you held tiny healing hands, the vision faded,
we were whole.

I look down upon our citadel alive
once more,
a shadow snake of curling green,
a Gorgon's rose to bind the ruins --
a carpet on our halls again, life beneath the stone she made.
As the day turns
autumnal
I see you in the sky's soft bed.