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.