Psyche says

so much appears

to be missing here.

Psyche says I am tired

of these colors that remain

invisible to eyes,

of those others that fade

too quickly for words, of the words that linger

too long for breath.

Psyche says I live

in a chamber of cloud. And what did the someone say? Married

to a monster. They are never wrong, the oracles.

Abandoned to the mountains, fled to the mountains, the high peaks that would pierce

the horizon. The clouds ashen, etched into the pulse of sky. Here, where hunger knots. Call her

what you will. See her beside herself, and again, the hunger, fear, see her perched on the crag,

listening to what wind, swirl, sobbing, to what voices bearing

what tide....

When I close my eyes

I see the fractured lover

holding the fractured beloved,

their wings you call gossamer or green.

Psyche says

the wind as it moves

through the depths of the pines

and the movement beneath the wind.

Beside herself. See her perched on a twig that does not break, or see her turning

toward him, turned

to stone. That a mouth, that a moth

may emerge from the broken mouth,

to be followed by others, my sisters, and others, so that we need not despair

to die.

We are lunar, sing the moths,

mere reflections of light,

yet our wings that are eyes

beat air

and we continue to circle the fire.

- from  Psyche Says (part one)