I reach for her hand.
Shell-bone.
Feather.
I tell her: I am Caladrius,
come to carry you to the sun.
I say it like a spell.
Like a prayer.
I say it to her.
But Rhiannon’s birds
lose their music in my mouth.
The Mabinogion breaks in my teeth,
language splintering,
myth spilling out.
And in the empty weight of
silence
I hear
the whispered wingbeat
of her breath
as it leaves
the cage of her body.
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