When I Have Arms Again
Someday I will tell you, when you are old and wise,
How moon broke me in pieces, and sun burned out my eyes;
And someday I will give you these crystals along with
An echo from the edge of one unalterable myth;
The underpinning engine of how and why and when,
I'll write that story down for you when I have arms again.
I limp along one pale strand that stretches into ten,
To knit a scarf of footsteps that bridges now and then
The one and holy Mother, the armory of dreams,
The stamp of our illusions and everything it means;
One card lost in the shuffle might still be found and then,
I'll test these hungry waters when I have arms again.
You made our wings of magic, of wood, and wax and art,
But all we blend together unbends and comes apart;
Some say my wings were melted, some say they were burned,
And some say it was circumstance, and some say it was earned;
For you who do say nothing, my silence to befriend,
I'll paint the splendid colors out when I have arms again
You trembled at the daring, marvelled at the lift,
As I went soaring over you, the everlasting gift
Delivered out of darkness, all dumbstruck in the sun;
Old moon she stuck a knife in me and twisted it for fun.
And so I spun like laughter, beyond your sorrow's end
But I will come to comfort you when I have arms again.