I seize you by the neck
politely but firmly and whisper:
I don’t know if I will see you again

and you pshaw me in
a gently disbelieving voice, scoffing
uneasily at the words.

Later that night comes the vision
of a lab assistant, mine though I am
without a lab; on fire, vividly

on fire; his name is Michael,
but he seems all right, says:
what of it? We will see each other again.

Later yet again I see upon midnight waking
a manticore screaming, a gryphon howling,
a phoenix squabbling then singing

in a stunning voice that melts
the very rocks upon which we are cast.
Later still I pull thin covers over my head

and am enveloped in a form of quiet
broken only by a random pop from
a kitchen radiator. The cat

licks me
fully awake…
what of it?

I will see this again.
I don’t see how
I will see it, but I shall —

I shall hear the song of the phoenix,
improbably sweet; you shall hear me backing
into a distance both next to you and distant;

I will hover like dew above long grass
before dawn; you shall hear me speaking as if
I could forget. I will see every thing again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T