I reach for her hand.
Shell-boned, almost air.
I tell her: I am Caladrius.
I will carry you to the sun.
I say it like a spell,
like a prayer,
like a lie.
But Rhiannon’s birds
lose their music in my mouth.
The Mabinogion breaks in my teeth:
words shattering,
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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