li. Great Cavern

I wondered what my sister knew.
I wondered what all the girls knew.
There was one girl I wondered more
 than the rest.
There was one girl I wondered what
 she thought of me.

Her hair a blondish-red, light & long &
 never combed. Her eyes turquoise &
knew many secrets, real & imagined.

She was good at fishing, as any boy or man
 among us. Strong, lithe, throwing nets
or when allowed on the long boats.

I watched her, more & more. The work
 didn’t contain her, like it did most
of them. She’d look up at the sky, study
 the stranger clouds. Sometimes she
would study a single fish from a
 heavy net’s haul. Sometimes smile
‘witching at it, toss it back to the waters.

She hadn’t always been among us.
Had come while the tribes still warred.
No explanation, one of the ancient women
 took her in & that was that.

I wondered what she knew. I thought of her
 turquoise eyes, her lithe figure throwing nets,
& wondered what she was. I knew men
 & women desired each other’s bodies,
schemed to lie together, dance & control
 each other, a peculiar obsession, but
this didn’t seem that. I just wondered
 what she knew.

Until the day came I saw more. Morning . . .
 No, it wasn’t yet. It was me dreaming
of the places my coin purse showed
 me, of how the ceremony in
the White Woods was part of something
 else, something more.

It was me waking up & for a moment
 breathless, listening. Father, deep
breathing, like always. Sister . . .
 listen . . . listen . . . nothing. Best
there was with her. Maybe lucky
 this time.

It was me digging our my coin purse
 & crawling like quicksilver through
the tent. I wanted to see my new little
 friend. It was still dark, campfires
dark & out. The war over, our tribe
 part of a larger clan now, we no
longer kept all night guards. Some of
 our men would travel some miles
away to the new borders. Me too one day.

It was me running low & swift to
 the hills, wanting to be just inside
those White Woods. Seemed safest place
 to let her out.

Just entering them, crossing among
 the first few, & I felt the hmmming
everywhere. It wasn’t dangerous,
 didn’t seem. It wasn’t about me
at all, I quickly realized. It was her.

I kneeled low, opened my purse,
 let her walk out, big & bold,
height of shortness. She sniffed around,
 cackled a bit, & suddenly shot away
among trees ahead. Cackling in my mind:
 Follow my play! Follow quick!

I picked up my purse & away through
 these pathless Woods. She guided me
along, following her, I didn’t think but
 to follow. This is all part of the same
 thing. I have to know why.

Then she urged me slow, very slow.
 I obeyed, & stepped soundlessly through
thicker trees. A movement ahead, a clearing.
 I curled silent behind a tree, shrouded
but for my eyes to see.

It was her. She was nude. She was slender.
 Beautiful. What doing? She was not alone.

Dancing? Dancing. With a . . . White Bunny?
 They resembled each other. Long hair,
long ears. Loose & flowing. Sometimes they
 spun by each other, sometimes seemed
to hop high like they both were bunnies.

Light pattered into the clearing, a soft
 finger at a time. Suddenly they both
looked up, sniffed. Sniffed. Two white
 flashes & were gone, twice less than a breath.

Luckily my little friend was somewhere
 nearby, & cared me continue my
spying. Led me along a fierce pace,
 the cackles in my mind wild
with delight. Led me toward a tall,
 dark cave. Completely dark, despite
the dawn.

“Don’t slow! No time! No time!” I heard
 in my mind. Heeding the voice
in my mind, & trying not to wonder
 at this, I walked at a quick pace
into the cave.

Something in here, not quite a Creature,
 no. Grasped my boy’s form,
frowned. I saw flashes of burning
 forests, of great cities polluting coastal
waters, of mountainous factories erupting
 thick black poisons into the air.
All deeds of men.

“Wait! Please! I’m sorry for all that!
 I came here because my friend
brought me. She’s a Creature. She meant
 no hurt! I mean none. I was following
a girl. One of my tribe. Please.”

A long moment, like I am considered
 between two ancient claws.
“She does not belong to you,” a voice says,
 impossibly deep & low in me. Then
silence, nothing. I walk through
 the dark cave & find a tunnel at
its back. Lit enough for me to pick
 my way along.

“Slowly! Slowly!” says my little friend
 with, for her, restrained cackling glee.
The tunnel is long but eventually gives
 way to a great great cavern, impossibly
tall &, in its wondrous center, a great tree
 I had seen on my coin purse, whose
branches I had perched on, sat with
 others far below! I kneeled low behind a rock.

There she was, dressed in something
 gauzy, hair decorated in a viney
crown of stones & blooms. She was
 asleep among many, many Creatures,
as though this her home & all
 that back there a dream. I saw
the White Bunny, some bears of brown
 & black, a grey hedgehog. A striped
lemur, a little pretty-maned lion cub.
 So many others.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
 All I could think was: I don’t belong here.
I wish I belonged here too.

Then my little friend tickled me inside
 my mind & said: “Look!” & her turquoise
eyes flitted open & looked right to me
 where I hid! Froze me, pinned me.
Curious, wondering, amused. A little shy.
 Just a little. Again, somehow, I felt
held delicately & examined close.

I panicked. I wrenched wild & loose &
 ran back through the tunnel & out the cave,
& into the White Woods, & would have
 been easily lost if my little friend’s
cackle hadn’t guided me, mercifully,
 back & back & back to the edge of
the White Woods, relief panting.

Yet still dawn. Like I had been
 traveling for an elongated ten seconds
or less. I sat down, suddenly, within
 the first few trees of the White Woods,
sat down exhausted. Unknowing what.
 What?

I hear a cackle behind me, low to
 the ground. Hear it with my ears.
My little friend, looking up at me with
 her calm wild delight. I hold out
my hand. Steps upon. A sniff, a gnaw.
 Agreeably into my coin purse.

I make my way quick & quiet back
 to my mattress & blanket. Purse
tucked secret away. Allow me a breath
 then.

My sister rolls over to face me.
 Smiles. A real, rare one. “You saw her?
With them?”

I nod wordless.
She smiles again, nods.
“Now we can tell each other what we know.”

******

lii. Liminal

It’s raining, & I’m not ready to talk
 to my sister, about the girl Iris,
or what magick treasures contained in
 my blue-green coin purse. It’s raining
& the there’s no fishing today. She’s out
 with the girls & women cooking up
the breakfast. But she’ll be back, &
 she’ll corner me in our tent.

So I put on our father’s rough overcoat
 which he often eschews as too heavy
for his needs, stuff my little purse in
 one of its deep pockets, & sneak my
way through the encampment.
 Notice again the wooden structures
being built in a cleared area at
 a distance.

“Our new homes & lives yonder,” says
 sudden a deep & beautiful voice
that almost mindless thrills me.
 My King. I kneel immediately, as
ever. He’s always kind to me though.

“No more kneeling, Odom.”
I keep my head low, don’t move.
“Stand, son. Now.” Gentle but a command
 like a wall. His hand helps me up.

“Walk with me.” He takes my hand,
 about three times my height, it seems
to mine eye & heart. We walk toward
 those buildings, still skeletons of
intent. Nobody working on them
 in this rain.

“This will be a meeting hall for all,
 where we will be told what to think,
& do. Be praised or scolded by our response.”

Leave that great building, pass a
 few smaller ones, perhaps dwellings,
& come to an even greater one.
 Already rises dizzying into the sky.

“What is this one, my King?”
“They call it a church. It’s where
 they worship.”
“Worship?”
His long long hair damp but his bloo
 eyes blanket me & yet cup me close.

“They believe men are set apart from
 the other living things of the world.”
“Set apart? How?”
“Special. Unique. Superior. Like this
 world belongs to us.”

I listen. I think. I work these words
 back & forth. He is patient.

“So what happens here?”
“They commune with each other & with
 a supernal being that made the world
& rules it.”
“A being. Like a King?”
“No. A creator. From whose breath &
 will & hand emerged all that is.”

I look at him. I forget he is King.
“But we are not set apart. We fish
 for our food. We burn wood for
our fires. We use leaves & roots & berries
 for our medicines.”

He nods.
“Will we have to come here?”
He nods again. “I think so.”

“Do you believe these things?”

He is silent. Long silent. Then he kneels
 to me, looks me through my marrow.

“I believe we belong to this world &
 am grateful for it. It is a generous
world with enough for us. It feels
 to me like we share with all upon it
& within it a part in its origins,
 its mysteries, its paths hereon.”

Pauses. Lowers his head very low.
“But, yes, we will come here & share
 in their simple praises, sing their simple
selfish songs, offer naïve worship toward
 their supernal father.”

“But why?”
“Odom, what do you have in your
  pocket?”
I gasp. Stutter. Confess. Confess it all.

“Will the things you’ve experienced
 in the White Woods dim by
kneeling in this building?”

I think. “No. They are wonderful
 things but real.”

He smiles, stands, again a wonderful
 tree’s height above me. “And you’ll
always call when summoned to
 the White Woods?”
I nod, nod. Nod.

He nods back, calmer. “Then what
 you do in here will be praise of those
things you know. As will mine &
 the rest of us who keep our stories.”

I want to smile, agree. But don’t.
Reach in my pocket & put my little
 coin purse on my hand to show.
Unzip. Let her walk out. She
 cackles up at him, pleased.

He cackles back down at her. Oh.
Offers a finger for her to gnaw.
Smacks her lips. He laughs.

I don’t understand but I love him
 & I love little her & I know what I
feel & have seen. He lets us walk
 back quiet to our camp.

In the tent, my sister is waiting.
 As is Iris. Smiling at me, I am
cornered by filial love & mysterious
 turquoise eyes.

I nod. Make to sit. They do not.
Iris speaks. “We know a place.
 Let’s hurry.” Takes my hand &
I am led, my sister takes the
 other & I am happy, I don’t know
why, but I know nothing ever more.
 Hear a soft cackle in my mind like a kiss.

******

liii. Treehouse

I am sitting just within the border
 of these strange White Woods high
up in a treehouse, old, ancient
 thing, perhaps once a watchman’s
shack for spying who approached.

Sitting with the girl Iris & my sister
 Cordel’a, each one a different grip
on my heart & mind. I still see Iris’s
 nude form dancing with the White Bunny,
sleeping angelic among her Creatures.

Cordel’a has tendered me so long
 I forget I’m older than her. She guards
my heart in ways I cannot
 understand, but accept. She knows
what is, feels it true, & then more so.

No seats in this treehouse, but
 perhaps twas no time for watchmen
to be sitting, relaxing, napping. A stone
 water jug, crackd near in half, a small
metal cup, with a pine cone in it. Deliberate?

I look at Cordela, her soft blue eyes,
 her ever-neat brown double-braids.
She wears old cloaks, sweaters, always
 layers of clothes, & leather boots near
up to her hips. Made our father trade for them.

“You can look at her too. She’s no shame
 you’ve seen her frolic in her skin.”
A mock in it, a laugh, but always loves me.
 So I look at Iris, turquoise eyes,
hair uncombed. We smile each other. It’s OK.

“Tell me what you know then,” I say,
 bluffing that my sister will go first.
Iris speaks. “Odom,” her soft mouth
 lingers around my name, or so I dream,
“These Woods aren’t safe anymore.”

“Why?”
“It’s the new King. Cordel’a & I’ve
 snuck around to listen. He feels
the Woods contain a bad magick,
 one he studies to defeat. His advisors
urge him to . . . ” she stops, choked.

Cordel’a comforts her as she does me
 after a bad dream. I look down, wait,
listen for the upset to subside. It does.
 Iris looks up at me. Smiles new.
I wish I could make her ever like that.

I think. “Do we tell my father or
 the King?”
They shake their heads. “They will
 say we are too few to fight & they
will not risk more of us dying,” Cordel’a says.

“What then?”
Iris looks directly at me, freezes
 me in her grasp. “You met him.
In the cave that leads underground
 to where they live.”

I think. Oh. Think again, remember
 that encounter like a bruise, like it
  could have been much worse.

“What is he? Why would he help us?’
She keeps her grasp of me still.
“You saw what he thinks of men.”
“Yes. I’m surprised he let me pass.”
She smiles. “You’re my friend.”
I don’t. “I am your kinsmen. But what
 are you that is special to him, Iris?”

She holds me closer, if that’s possible.
 “I don’t know, Odom. I am a girl,
pretty, one you admire. But for him,
 this form, he sees something else.
There is a bond between us because of it.”

I grasp her back, no longer telling
 if just our eyes or her fully in my
arms now. “Where are you from,
 Iris?”

Silence. Then: “I am from the sea.”
“Like a sea fairy?”
“I don’t know.”

I pull back, suddenly. No, am pulled
 back. Cordel’a is impatient, not
yet a fan of young romance.

I nod. “What do we do?”

“We go to him together. Tonight.”
I think, my head between my legs,
 studying the floorboards of this
watchman’s hut, our treehouse.

Look out toward our encampment,
 & the water village building up beyond it.

“Could their King really fell these magick
 White Woods?”
Silence. Then Iris: “My friend in
 the cave fears men will ruin this
world as they have done many others.”

I think of my coin purse & its wonderful
 little inhabitant. Of the ceremony
I was allowed to share with the
 men of my tribe & the Creatures.
Of Iris & that cavern.

It seems hopeless to array
 a Beast in a cave against what
iron & fire purposeful, fearful men
 can wield. Seems hopeless to believe
the Woods will always elude conquer
 anymore than our King did.

But I stand, & I take each of their
 hands in standing. We help each
other down the ladder affixed to
 the tree trunk. We crouch among
the trees until dusk, easier to return.

Cordel’a’s hand keeps mine closer even
 as Iris’s seems to evanesce.
Her deep ruts in my heart remind
 me she is real, & yearn her near
again very soon.

******

liv. Wytner

Wake suddenly, thinking my coin purse
 is gone, feeling under my matt,
where is it? where is she? The tent
 is longer somehow, its ceiling, wooden
not old canvas. I stand without having
 to crouch. My father’s rough overcoat still
on me, I walk toward a lit room.
 Only one real thought: where is she?

The walls are the same rough dark fibers
 of my overcoat. I’m trying to remember
something else, something that would help
 me, someone. I’m barefoot. No, wait,
I’m bare pawed? Sharp, small claws,
 clicking along the wooden floor. That room
isn’t nearing, I begin to run. Click louder.

Arrive to a crowd of people, all strangely
 much taller than me, dressed thickly
in dark rags & furs, I try to push among
 them, looking up, trying to see a face.
Then a face, the elder with the long
 thin beard, from the ceremony in
the Woods. “Please? What is this?”

He leads me away, into a shadow,
 shows me the box in his arms. Roughly
presses it into my arms. “These are our
 memories, Odom. We can each only take
one. Go ahead, choose.” He seems to drift
 back to the crowd as I look at objects
that remind me of loved ones & things.
 Two brown double braids, like my sister’s.
Big, worn boots like my father’s. A viney
 crown of stones & blooms, like the girl Iris’s.

Then I’m holding it. My blue-green coin purse.
 Empty. I cry out. Keep crying, blindly,
crying out, shaking, shaking, & shaking.

“Odom! Wake up! We have to go!” Cordel’a’s
 impatience cracks my nightmare. Her double-braids
in place. Oh. Oh. Usual tent. I’ve fallen asleep
 in my father’s overcoat on my matt.
Reach in my pocket, heedless if she sees
 me to do. Blue-green purse, zipped, thick
with contents. Take a breath finally,
 look dumbly at her.

“We have to meet her now.”
Continue looking dumbly.
“Iris? Your true love?”
Oh. I nod. Stand. Her little patience now
  gone, she grabs my hand & we leave
  the tent, dark enough to move quickly
    through encampment toward the hills
    leading to the White Woods.

“Cordel’a.”
“Shhh.”
“Cordel’a, stop.”
She does. Looks at me. Patient again.
  That happens sometime.

“Shouldn’t we tell the King, or our
 father?”
“She doesn’t want to. You know that.”
“Why are you listening to her? You never listen
 to anyone.”
She laughs, a real pretty laugh jingling
 from her pretty sea-green eyes.
Now I wait. Now I’m patient.

She looks down. “She knows things, Odom.”
“What things?”
“If we don’t do this, bad things will happen
 to all of us.”
“What does she know?”

Not answering, she takes my hand & we
 continue our climb up the hill to the
White Woods.

“Where do we meet her?”
“Don’t worry.”
“Cordel’a, how do we find her?”
She’s quiet, won’t stop walking, won’t let go
 of my hand.
I stop. To her dirty look, I pull out my coin purse
 from my pocket. Unzip. I gently make
her hand open, & empty the purse into
 her palm. Including her.

She comes out, shorter & greater than ever,
 & sniffs Cordel’a’s palm. Cordel’a’s eyes
sparkle with delight. She gnaws the palm
 a couple of times, just for show, & looks
up crazy-eyed at me. “We need to go
 to Iris.” Not a word, maybe a cackle,
she leaps to the ground, speeds away.

We start running to follow but again the cackles
 in our minds direct our steps. She hurries
us but not in a panic. An hour passes?
 I don’t know how we don’t tire but
we don’t, & then arrive to a clearing.

The same clearing as I was brought to?
 It feels the same. Full moonlight.
The outlines of a building. Its ghostly door
 opens. Within, a figure, long unbrushed
reddish blonde hair, viney crown on
 her head, stones & blooms. Both her hands
out for us. ‘Witching smile we both yearn.

Grasping her hand, crossing into the building,
 everything changes. Daytime, hot high
winds. We’re in a . . . desert? Iris is
 hurrying us along, I look back, from
nowhere, to seeming nowhere. Her hand
 pulls me along & I let her, let her,
then I suck hard in my breath, & stop.

Turquoise eyes deeper in my mind than
 I am.
“What’s wrong, Odom?”
“Where are we going?”
“He’s waiting for us.”
“Who? Where?”
She smiles me like she’s nude again,
 dancing & inviting my turn with her
this time.
“Wytner, Odom. We can all talk there.”
“What’s Wytner, Iris? Tell us.”

She lets go of Cordel’a’s hand too &
 gives us both a strange, plain look.

“Wytner is where he takes the form
 of a man. He’ll with us. We’ll tell
him our crisis with the new King.”

I want to ask more but she holds out
 her hand smiling again, & Cordel’a
takes my other, & I don’t know &
 would maybe still not, but a cackle
at my feet. Waiting to return to my,
 well, her coin purse. They let me go
long enough to retrieve my little friend.

Start laughing, despite all this, jingling
 voices, & I love them both, & my little
friend, & we hurry along again to Wytner
 & long past knowing all this, I’m just
glad to be with them all.

******

lv. Braided Hmmm, Part 1

Wytner is where I won Iris, if
 for awhile, & lost Cordel’a, but slowly.
I became what I am there, won
 the instrument I hold & play in
my hand even now, but lost some
 of that smiling green leaf who walked
defiantly with her King though
 the town meant to prison us.

What is Wytner? Seemed hardly a town
 at all. Only Iris knew where to go,
& so only she not surprised when we came
 upon the little shack in nowhere’s
middle of this strange desert. An exotic
 little old man sat on a stool in front
of the shack, itself appearing a thousand
 years old, shrunk to bare a shadow
big enough to shield his wizened hand.

Great noise from my coin-purse &
 herself madly click-click & noise-noising
to be freed, leapt to the desert floor
 & up to the little old man, cackles
filled the warming breezes as they
 seemed to contest who merrier to see
the other. Suddenly done, she returned
 to me & coin purse most agreeably.

Iris then gnattered awhile with him,
 maybe getting directions. His eyes like
black cosmic holes in his head but
 his speech delighted. Did he guard
an invisible domain where Wytner lay?
 I looked at Cordel’a but she was calm,
even patient, not by reputation.

Iris & the little man kissed cheeks
 side to side three times, then he too
seemed to forget us as he resumed
 his stool, his cosmic-eyed ruining
of . . . something.

Iris continued us at a quicker pace,
 I couldn’t tell why, unless the town
set at dark & none to find. We simply
 hurried urgently. I wanted to talk,
to hear their voices, to be a little
 reassured by these, but my mouth
was parched, tongue unable. They too found
 nothing to say.

Finally we approached a strange
 building, then several, seeming
beyond this desert we have traveled.
 Now there was a road before us,
trees again, & many more in the
 distance. White Woods? Woods within
Woods? I so wanted to know anything.

A great mass of a building, but not
 like those the King had shown me.
It had no apparent main entrance,
 was more like a very tall hill
of many windows & few doors.
 Iris led us toward one, again saying
nothing.

Suddenly in a very quiet room, lined
 on three sides with books. The fourth
a fireplace. Several stools & one
 armchair its furniture. The latter turned
away from us.
“
Our hands so tightly clasped till
 now fell from each other.
He addressed me alone in my mind,
 & I think he did with Cordel’a &
Iris too. All at once, but separately.

“Odom.”
“I knew you in that cave.”
“In a way, yes.”
“I’ve come, we’ve come, to ask your help.
 To save these White Woods.”
“Save?”
“From men. The kind you showed me
 who burn & pollute & despoil this world.”

I feel eyes upon me with no face,
  the voice ever deeper in my mind,
ever sadder, ever angrier. I hold
 my own somehow. This matters.

“Men like that will keep coming &
 coming. They know only how to use &
use, until all is gone, & then surprised
 the loss.”

“But not all men are like that!
 We have come for your help!
My King, my father, we love our
 world. We cherish belonging to it.”

Silence. “And yet you are defeated,
 & herded, & cowed by the destroyers.”

I hold myself strong, still, eyes shut,
 maybe gone, maybe body gone.
But I hold, I must.

“What would you give for this world
 you love, Odom? What sacrifice?”
“I don’t know. What do I have?”
“You love Iris. You love Cordel’a.”
I nod, bodiless. “Yes.”

“Would you leave them one day
 coming, leave them never to be
reunited again? To join with others
 to help save the world?”

I am silent, let the long moment
 pass. Think of these two girls,
how I love each specially, how I am
 more by loving them, coming
here, trusting them.

“Yes,” I say aloud. My eyes opened.
 Reaching down in either direction
for a girl’s hand. My heart shivers
 & moans this recovered touch.

Their eyes still closed, their conversations
 still occurring, perhaps
their sacrifices being gamed out.
 What would each give, for what?

I close my eyes again, to wait
 quietly, & feel a hmmm rise in
my mind like no other I had
 known. Feels like many in one,
like it’s stronger for this, like
 the despoilers of the world could
not imagine, like their petty minds
 & machines could not, like here
was something to comfort me
 sweet & deep in the sadness
of my sacrifices to come.

******

lvi. Braided Hmmm, Part 2

I have loved before like I love Odom
 now, lived deeply among men & women before
closely, as I do now. I have come
 & gone from many lives like I am
now, like I will again.

I see their beautiful faces struggle as
 they talk to him, negotiate, promise,
sacrifice what little they have, &
 willing, always willing. Less willing
is he to talk to me.

“Why don’t you help them? Really help
 them?”
Silence.
“Speak plainly. You know how.”
“You can invade & burn every world
 in all creation & never settle in peace.”
“Teach us. Teach me.”
Silence.
“Tell me.”

“Men don’t learn. They dream, & want,
 & hunger, create principles by which to
burn other men, & the world world, &
 worship these principles till the air
& the water dead, & the last of them fallen.”

“You don’t love these two a little?”
“A little. It’s not enough.”

I try to show him, as often I have
 tried. How I let Odom that night
along, till he spied me as I danced nude
 with the White Bunny. How he awed
of my slender torso, long hair, wanted
 fierce & soft of me.

I show him Cordel’a, the afternoons
 we stole to hidden places by the water,
found low stones to sit on, to face
 one another, & I made her take down
her braids & show me her long beautiful
 hair, & made her remove all the
layers shrouding her new figure.

She told me, fierce sea-green eyes locked
 desperately on mine, that she longed to kiss
me, not the boys who stared her.

“If we could turn their fears toward
 nurture, toward music, toward dreams,
toward how the world would protect
 them as much as all living on it, if only
they would open their fists, find their
 yearning’s answers in every direction.”

Silence. Then: “You will choose, as you
 always do. Why would this time be
different?”

I shake him off. Odom has taken both
 our hands again, though Cordel’a
is still very deep in her commune. His hand
 is very warm but his grasp of mine
is gentle. I feel my body yearn toward
 his, as it’s always done toward one of them.

The more I want him, the more
 the truths about me & the world recede,
the more I push them down,
 the more I am the strange but
pretty girl he sees. So wish it was so.

Cordel’a wakes with a cry & a whimper
 & grips us both hard to depart now,
uncaring why we came, or what we
 feared, go now, Iris, go now.

They are both dazed enough to little notice
 how quick our return. We don’t talk
of what we experienced, what use
 it might be.

But I now know. The White Woods will not burn.
 He was not scared. He was angry.

I lead them back to our treehouse
 on the edge of the White Woods.
They are roused enough now to wonder
 what we accomplished, what now?

What I do not say is, “I won’t be able
 to save you all. But I love you two
enough to try.”

What I do instead is smile each of them
 enough to fog their hearts happy,
& say, “We did well. He will protect
 the Woods, as always.” They believe
me enough, just enough.

We walk back into the encampment,
 night still. A word in Cordel’a’s ear,
“Distract your father of Odom’s
 absence.” Her look sharp, disappointed,
but I nod, do this for me. She will.

Odom I lead away from the encampment
 now, his conversation in Wytner
still distracting him, despairing him some.
 My hand grasping tighter his,
we walk through the half-built town.

Lead him to the biggest building with
 its great spire. He hesitates but
I insist him with fingers sharp
 in his palm, a strange, forceful
smile. He comes.

I know the intent of this building,
 to bring life’s suffering & mysteries
into a well-lit communing, a sweet crooning
 of simple answers a child might wish,
a promise that worn hands, aching
 torsos, rent hearts will gain reward
by death, & so return to work now.

I find a candle & a match & light it,
 & lead him to the open area
of the floor, & sit him while I gather
 together their trinkets & pages & icons
of naïve human faith, & find a cache
 of soft lamb’s wool meant for preachers’
costumes, & bags of soft feathers meant
 for ceremonial tools, & I assemble
around Odom a bed for our coupling.

He is so gentle in our kissing I know
 he is more scared than heated, &
so I press his fingers to my breast,
 my already hard nipples. I reach
under his clothes for his boy’s cock
 & knead it into manhood, & his
kiss comes more hungry, & he knows
 not how to take me, but that he
wants to, & I guide him, & I let him,
 & I submit to him as I have to so many
these countless centuries among men,
 on this world & many, many others.

The one in Wytner would grimace at
 my happy moaning cries, at how
I let my body burn & blow with
 my new lover’s touch, at how I make
him burn & blow in return.

The one in Wytner has long not
 put on a man’s skin & bones & want
& fears of why & death. The one
 in Wytner has loved but not in a
long time.

We leave before light, the worship house
 & its trinkets stained & scattered
with our loving hours, its scents
 & sweats. My message to Odom’s
tribe’s captors: there are stranger
 strengths bide this world, & will crush
you easily. ‘Ware those White Woods.

His smile sugary & easeful now,
 his trust in whatever I am complete,
his faith that beauty can be his,
 can want him, can love him,
he is marked down deep by me now—

& as we walk along, I teach him a new way to hmmm,
 to be one, none, many with all, he seems to know it,
smiles & knows—

& when I go, or he does, he will survive,
 he will love others like we loved,
he will lead men toward courage
 & hope, toward the music of our
moans & cries in this night,
 toward everything good in this world,
that he may ever new remember me.

******

Continue on Many Musics, Tenth Series

Back to Many Musics, Ninth Series

Back to Table of Contents