The result of mixing Irigaray, caffeine and magic

From whence, here one comes, as flailing,
flying, falling down.
He bites. Bites the air.
And, as landing, springs as hero, as superman-
ing. Swirling, he misses. The doves scream. Trees
cry. crying. cries.
The void. There, the shadow, the blackness
ceases to distinguish the three. Fire remains, the
only one to illume. No wonder we loved it.
But we unrealised (fail to) that we are the
three. The three are in us. Are us. The fourth, our/are
rest. Rest,...rest.
They two, they realised the three, embodied
it for all of us. They sing of it. They are the
bards, the song itself. They teach the way,
but still we seek fire.

Sinking
The flame, our desire, is extinguished. We must see
it go out. Pray for its death. For the
onset of decay.
It burns as we start to feel the earth,
the second. It wells within, pounding on high.
And the first flows. For air is third. In the flow,
the her, we find ourself, as she shows who we are.
In relation. Why .we are.