a private mythology

In repose, I have grown restless.
Thankful for nights like these -
the trilo.bitten wind;
howling is not only the province of wolves...

A lush moon rises, pregnant in late winter.
She reflects my skin in blushing alabaster tints;
nautilus mythos of an Eve, open-eyed and reaching.

{I have apples for the offering.}

And, I am possessed.
This Night of nights - the wisdom calls,
salmon bright.

Full of portent and reckoning -
More woman than waif, the rarest of my truths.
The thumping, running rhythms of earthblood and skylore:
Lilith, shaded gray. Tension rises in rooted coils.


Tonight, I sing:
of hawks that fly in wilderness tongue,
and the wounds that shadow our flight.