You always knock when you come into my dreams
Appear when life is fraying at the seams
And I can hear you tapping
As you batten down the hatches
And hollow out my bones
Cos you believe that I can fly
And this tapping is a code
Which isn’t Morse of Five by Five
It is the scrape of chisel
Carving sigils down my sides
And you don’t even try to hide
No, your handiwork is labelled
You stamped Runes along my spinal cord
Proclaiming I am able
You give form to thought which was before
A figment
Or a fable
And for all of this I’m yours and I remain immensely grateful
