From the dark spaces of memory 

I emerged, rising through a pinprick of light

in the gloom, on all sides the falling

bodies of dead song-birds: these trees

that cast no shadow on their own reflections - I

fashioned them, forging, hammering, working the metal.

And so I found myself, in the wind, fully fledged…

Who

will keep clear a road for me, care

about the solitary journey

I make, torch in hand, in search of home,

or stride towards this body when it's

blackening in the blazing desert heat?