My brother, Orthodox, has come
And, flanked by Expectation’s force,
Would try to conquer Music.

“Go back, go back,” he said.
“Do not linger in yourself;
Do not speak with Dreamer.”

In haste, and taken by the wind
That flows from work of Spirit-Taker,
My wings returned to skin,
The fins of Fish withdrew to bone,
And the song of Fur-On-Haunch-Before-The-Moon
Came back in echo as voice of Reason.

Mortal flesh, in full command,
Then lay me down to summon strength
For the dawn was meant for Dream-Taker.

But the freedom Blue of sleep
Unveiled the final stand for Spirit’s reign.

When Conflict’s morning roar
Aroused uncertain light of day,
I awoke alone and lurched
From Stifler’s bed with claws of fire.
I paced the Earth on Stallion’s hooves
And screeched at Sun with Eagle’s tongue.

 

November 20, 1980