There is a place, I told you that morning,
where one can stand and hear
the calling of a thousand thousand birds.

I have waited here for you
(Kyah! koo-whitwhitwhitwhitwhit)
while the falling sun
poured clear honey over everything.
(Or was it amber,
catching us out of time?)
The saber is heavy in my hand.

Duels of honor are long since out of fashion.

I've remembered what you taught me.
Fencing mask to protect my face,
padded jacket and breastplates.
Sneakers, not boots.
Loose clothing to allow the movement
of advance, retreat, lunge and recover.
Heart no longer worn upon on my sleeve
for daws to peck at.
(Krrrrrt, kyah!)
Hair braided back, safely out of the way.

(Rrrrt, wheetwheetwheetwheet, koo-whert)
Never let your guard down.

You told me the truth about birdsong once.
It may sound very pretty, you said,
but all they're really saying
is "My tree. My tree. My tree. My tree."

The twilight sky is six shades of blue;
A clear wind blows from the crescent moon
like cool water.
I can see your shadow approaching,
and above my head sound the war-cries
of a thousand thousand birds.

I've remembered what you taught me.