Swan Song

[Guest guest]

After the final act of contrition

After the last curtain call

And the bow is made,

The flowers of accolade

Strewed to center stage,

 

There comes a memory of being born,

Of how it all began these mirror images

We see ourselves, not quite brightly,

Not quite rightly,

Oh, sting where is thy truth?

 

We remember the dream from whence we came

Like so much plunder under the sun, like beggars

In the night when the night is all there is and the

Bones whisper in bird song and magnificent hues

Of daybreak, and time is awakened as the drenching

Of bodies in lovemaking, perspiration seeps as blood

Coagulates in the shorelines of destiny, once removed,

Twice spoken, once in my woman-hands, once in my

Poet-heart, and danced and danced on

My bleeding toes.

 

 

 

Ana