Mythic Me

Out of my forehead sprang a second self
claiming the name Ceibhfhionn.
She lead me to a bottomless well
in the thick of some ancient forest.
She dare not speak. Her familiar eyes
studied the surface, conjuring up a language sea.
I cupped my palms for a drink and begged.
Myself refused myself. She relented and pushed me in.
No darkness nor stone walls enclosing,
only the incandescence of knowledge
asphyxiating my old body, old soul.
I reemerged as her, this distortion.
As the water dried, words inked
themselves on my veins, my skin
becoming of parchment. She was gone
and I was left in a clearing without a well,
without her memory and thirsty.



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