THE WAITINGI think of her in every hour that passes
And the spell of her thoughts weaves through mine
Binding me slowly
Knot by knot
In a ritual slaughter,
So I repeat, "Xena".
I know her features though it has been centuries
And her face must be changed;
If we met
I would recognise her
By the loss of my heart.
I want her to touch me
Shed my clothes like the shell of insects
So I can grow,
I want to breathe the scent of her hair,
Like night with a half-moon reflection;
I will loosen all that holds her
And see her eyes
And find her
And be found.
So I repeat,