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.