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