as the nights slip
cauldron to stone
from wave to cold
we turn to the
turning within
spirits on the wander
gather 'round the flames
dancing, spinning, yearning
as they give to the
turning within
let all our debt burn away
as we turn to the
turning within
our lady of crows
waits above the ford
will you bed her at river
should she bid you?
be she maiden or crone?
she waits on her lover,
our lady of crows
have you come to
collect waters issued of
our lady of crows?
to reap on the harvest,
as gifted bounty of
our lady of crows?
or have you come to
enjoin at frenzy and fury
of our lady of crows?
i wait on dreams
of her fountainhead,
at her narrows standing
flow her water, oak & ash
hazel & blackthorn sharp,
at her narrows standing
wait upon gold & rust
for rime & without reason,
at her narrows standing
long the night i belong
set to slumber underground,
at her narrows standing
thin sticks stacked
for drifter design
in this twilight world
all glyph and glamour
—howl now the wolves
gun oil and smolder
burning under the thick
hammer crack, steel
the flint for the sticks
dream now
in shift with the pale
lizard tails and tail feathers
our hearts lined in trees
bloodstone inside and
marching square toes
in steel rings and bootblack
down the horizon roads
scented with burnout:
come night, she sings
i watched as the shallow boat
carried two dead lovers
into the mists and away
to the place of apples at
the hands of destiny's child
wiping away tears,
i bid them goodbye
rest well
rest well
until the end of time
that she cries
her stone tears
this dark angel at
thresholds waiting
while the sun
burns away her
stonefield shadow
hush now, tired one,
stolen one,
hush now and sleep
everything return and
goes to loaming in under—
call rook or declare crow
truth is of water
unstirred by eddy
as by the reeds her
shallow barge flows
half-sick of shadows
she whispers, lips dry
as she rivers through
i, too, grow
half-sick of shadows
aching for the moon
she flows scarlet and scarred
through leaden falling snows
grace over fell, wending 'round trees
with black hair and crow—
a drifter gazing in thrall
nothing to lose
nothing to prove
slipping along that
thin grey line
surrendering to
the lady of shadows--
let her bring
what she will bring