Thinking Plague Moonsongs
Wooded hill
In the hoary mantle of moonlight
By the cloud rack tattered
A summit bared to wind and storm
Dolmen looms
Over granite platform where soon
In anger and in glory
The ancient one
Will dance once more
Silence falls
Sailing orb approaches
The vertex
Fear and hope are melded
As on the stone
A red light grows
Human tears
Poured from vessels oaken
Ignite the stone
Wolves and jackals dancing
And in their midst the mother smiles
I am a stag of seven tines
She is a flood across a plain
I am a wind on a bottomless lake
She is a tear shed by the sun
I am a hawk above a cliff
She is a thorn beneath a nail
I am a wonder among the flowers
She is a wizard
I am a spear that roars for blood
She is a salmon in a pool
I am a lure from paradise
She is a hill where poets walk
I am boar, ruthless and red
She is a breaker threatening doom
I am a tide that drags to death
She is an infant
I am the womb of every holt
She is the blaze on every hill
I am the queen of every hive
She is a shield for every head
I am the birth of every song
She is a nightmare in your sleep
I am the tomb of every hope
In high places
They do not know me
They kill and rape my children
Preach falsehoods
Which they say god gave them
Though you build
Edifice and pavement and furnaces
Belching gouts of poison
And though you keep the land at bay
I am here
After all these centuries
And very soon
You will know again
The darkness of
My timeless womb
