It hits me in the middle of the night, this soft

feathered thing like an enormous bird. I think

at first it's the eiderdown, tossed by Tyndareos

getting up to piss, but then it is in me, urgent,

the way he never is any more.

Why is there such

great hunger with so little heft, I wonder

the moment before I hear the wings, fluttering

high above in rhythm to the pulsing in my womb.

And he is whispering through that icy beak,

"Knowledge and power, knowledge, power, power,

power" as if I care for anything more than this

wonder of pleasure no human would ever believe

if I told.