It will come with a rush of wind
or as a wolf
that chases shadows.
It will come from the sea
as Poseidon’s snakes
did for Laocoon.
It will come as a lion’s roar
after it has made its kill,
its mouth bloody.
It will come when your song
breaks like waves
on the shore.
It will come when every breath,
to your surprise,
is your last.
It will come as an eagle
we cannot see,
but only be.