fragments

[summer_jackel]

In the earliest hour, she suddenly
asked, what became of him?

Would he, in the dark earth, in the
loam, be born again with
the greenbearded corn

Her voice was gentle. She answered
that she had seen him walk beneath the crescent moon, when
all the land was new
when the crescent moon hung in oak tree branches like a cradle,
when the oak leaves were pollenbrushed tender
when all the night expected, he came to make the offering.
He saw the silver woman with her silvered hounds, flowing through
the white-tipped field. Across the field, he met
her eyes, and understood

She was nude beneath the sky
and her bones moved loosely,
like her greyhounds when she ran

we understood the presence of
the hare's red blood under
the crescent moon in that first
blue light of dawn.

Comments

[howl-at-the-sun.livejournal.com]

Verrrrry pretty.

[summer-jackel.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[kynekh-amagire.livejournal.com]

Ooh, pretty things with words! My recent memory contains one definition for "greenbearded", though. I realize this is a personal deficiency.

[summer-jackel.livejournal.com]

Thank you!
Now I kind of want to write a poem about eating nettles until the nerves in your face freeze up. Or possibly, I shouldn't. Still, I think that should fall under the broad category of 'pagan ritual.'