Fey
this morning
i saw a boy sitting on the railing of the bridge
facing east
gazing at the sun on the water
his face was a pale pure white
his hair a tangled mass of gold
he looked young
almost unbearably young
new and golden
but old beyond all memory

something fey screamed in my gut
the echoes of a hidden name followed
as i passed across the bridge
the lust for magik and adventure
rising, roiled in my chest
a voice inside me whispers
he is here, the satyr, reaching out
to know you

i craned my head behind me
fighting the urge to turn and stop
he was not looking but remained
more than a figment, still and golden
gazing
but i moved on to
assignments, obligations
though i was desperate to know him

i want him in the way one wants
something they cannot resist
the desire, the power
of a dream
the tearing brightness of
the light within me
in a moment of no contact
there is a touch between us
a connecction, name to name
immortal

i see not his face but i know him
in the very way
i know myself
and for a moment
i am drawn thin to the edge of resistance
if only to sit
on the bridge and gaze
eastward
toward the sunrise.