I.

Let morning rise—Oh let her rise! The night has had her say.

II.

It was a windmill, that led me to you. The mighty fan that tipped and tipped as the currents did push it, and inward I fell, from out the sky, into your churning pieces that had fenced off the itch of magic, the itch of movings, the bits between the fingers of woods and brush so the fence I jumped, and ran at you as only a creature on fire could.

III.

‘I haven’t a name’ is what you said. ‘I have too many’ is what I said. We bargained and traded with this too many times in too few lives, and when we had hobbled ourselves,

we died.

IV.

You caught me once, looking back to the breeze. And quick in fright you seized me. But, I am dust, as always like rain, and I slipped and dipped up, catching the tail feather of levanter, and back to the wine sea, I glided, and left you hoping with the night.

V.

Oh morning—Come fast! I have had my say. Let lovers speak, for I am no longer there.

Let the sun come and make it alright.