Remain by my side as wind deity, as word, as eyes bright with both dusk and amber. Remain with me so that we may keep vigil, both of us before morning’s honeyed light filters through fire escapes. In our vigil, let there be only witness, and I will offer you stillness rising into unfettered dawn. Here I will weave a dreaming of lovemaking bodies’ fire and salt. Here, I will teach your hands to weave crescent moon into ocean current, serpent hiss into river’s rush. Here I shall weave a selvedge of we.

Ever shall there be a we, a ceaseless, insistent we, the fiercest we, bound only to the knowledge of scars upon my flesh, and the segment of my spine which aches to sprout wings. Deep within lightless dovecotes, this we shall remember the lamentation of songbirds as it remembers the lingering warmth of your retreating form. Ever shall this we know how tender, your flesh at the throat, how your fecund black loam scent sates me.

Do not let the sun steal you from my side and set you wandering, for now we know red hibiscus blooms here in your city of constant sirens. Bring me your bones and your fire, and I will keep them safe.

HAVING BEEN CAST, EVE IMPLORES

HAVING BEEN CAST, EVE IMPLORES

I want to know the fires your hands bring—
the fractured fates and deep-set furious lives,
the weaving of your heart lines, and how perched
upon the finest blade of language, the verses
you have breathed into your city of constant sirens.

I want to know the words to your prayer—
my earliest memory, a thirst for your bones.
Tell me what you know of redemption, dear one,
and blossoms of hope unfurling their first petals.
Tell me you awaken holding my name in your hands.

I want to know the scent of your promise—
an azure calm that rises and falls, your lungs
drawing air, whispering. Muse, Diwata,
I am your constant siren, your ocean lullaby.
Diwata, I am your midnight dragonfly song.

HAVING BEEN CAST, EVE IMPLORES 2

HAVING BEEN CAST, EVE IMPLORES 2

Dear Night Sky, dear Veil, hear me. A lullaby aches in my rib cage. Today, I am a dovecote, and there are songbirds cooing inside, twittering, goldened, precious. How they all at once alight as I open my body to your waning autumn moon. I am waiting for you to fill me.

Dear Wounded One, I dream you are fading, though you are not lost to me. The starlight of your bones still pulls me to you, to your pieces of worship, to the work of your hands. I still know the whisper of your scarring fissures; I know these are calling to me.