Poem Two: Myth of Light

Myth of Light

for the magician

*

We are minus the myth of light,

my sorcerer, my winter king. 

We are the breath of the cold, starlight.

Wind bending the tops of trees.

Monsoon rains pounding 

the steps that lead to the temple.

We are the spaces in between

what we should have said.

Who we should have been.

Put a flower on your lapel.

Sing me a song. Soon 

we will be ice patterns

on the river when it is so cold

the mountain goes to sleep.

Repeating holy words 

I'm not sure makes a difference, 

but I'm sure the way I loved you

would.

*