In the first hour of another life, I named you god and took to singing the glory of you.
Even the feral saints called me mad but I was intoxicated, then, with the glory of you. 

But that was another life, and its echo my curse. Somewhere in time, a symphony stirs,
but my praise songs and prophecies are nothing more than a sad girl’s story of you. 

When I said I would find you anywhere, I thought there was nothing I could not foresee.
But blindfolded, bereft, I cannot locate the name you live by now in my rosary of you. 

Do you remember how I came to your door, a vagabond, night after night? You asked what
magic or weapon I dispelled wolves and fiends with, but all I had was the armory of you. 

And, lover, if you only knew – the only demon I knew was you. Caught between your teeth,
losing my head between your thighs, my fate irresistible, even knowing the augury of you. 

I inhabit the past now, I speak no more predictions. To forget is mere Cassandra wish – and
would I want to? The nights are so long, and there is no body warm as the memory of you.