One Thursday in October

In the life before,

the boy was given a name.


He was born before and

beyond borders —


below the watchtower

and within the walled garden,


the first-born son

of the seventh seed


of the summerhouse.


Four black feathers fell

from his mother’s hand


four black feathers

carried away by


The Winds of Ellan Vannin —


beyond the gate of

Moreland Close


over the tender boughs of

The McCrystyn Tree


across the eyes of

The Irish Sea


through his father’s body

to take refuge 


in his mother’s womb.


This was


The First Migration —


that traveling wound

in the blood


to land softly at

The Border of Passing Clouds.



It was a Thursday —


a Thursday in October.




A singular world nestled

briefly in the embrace

of a name.


Words spoken where we

carry with us


all the terrible beauty

of the past.


Teraura kisses his heart

through the veil of his chest —


her lips carry

the fragrance of identity

that always travels with us,


in the collective memory

of being.

Mauatua places

four black feathers


on his dark black hair.


Four black feathers

his crown of thorns —


four black thorns for his crown of hair.


This second Christ,

fallen from the


Deemster of Man


his naked body descending

into the sea


beyond borders —


our paradise lost.




In the life before,

the man was given a name.


He died before and

beyond borders —


he died the first-born son

of the seventh seed,


his death beyond


The Border of the Moon —


long since sunk beneath

the ocean of dreams.


It was April twenty-one

eighteen thirty-one —



It was a Thursday.

First published in Impspired Magazine 2021.