I bring you gifts within the darkest night,
A rough-cut murder hiding in your bed;
The first war cry of every fallen knight
And bloodied moons arisen from the dead;
I bring you gifts in violent Northern light,
My fingers crawling swift into your head…
The clarity I find in second sight
A mystery unhinged, all to be said.
I brought you gifts in each and every word
That flies from me, a free and eager bird
To nest within your pulse, your breath, your heart:
And I will bring you gifts in shattered song
And syllables – but will you truly long
For me the way I long for you, O Art?