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under winter moon

trust your night eyes, child.


there will be no comfort here


no fires around which to gather and dance.

we are alone.

healing cuts

and we lavish crimson blood on fresh snow.

our tread falls softer,

and we fold our bodies down to bow and kiss the earth with the strange tongues of our mothers,

wyched words from her womb only our bellies understand.

as I wake,

     I know I am alone.

I look up to see the stars have moved and spun the heavens on their backs.

winter has killed the leaves and the trees have drawn their spirits in

to nest

inside their core,

leaving the heavens

untouched

the moonlight stark and uncompromising.

the winter hag has stripped me

and now

I stare back at my own reflection

that hangs from every tree,

until she rasps that she is done with me,

that I have cut away the rags of comfort

and my outline,

my core

is clear,

raw.


I see those long fingers of the earth stretched toward the stars

and head for home,

whole, unshadowed,

awake in the cold,

and terribly,

nakedly

aware

and unafraid

of who I am.