In a few days she’ll be back, wrapped inside a thunderstorm and with wings made of fire.
She’ll visit me in that garden where we first met — under the tree with no name and leaves heavy with iron.
And together we’ll drink the venom that bleeds from the tree, and which turns Eden into a dying mire.
Then I, too, will get my wings and together we will fly. High into the heavens where mortals go to die.