The Coven of the Spiral Heart - January '99

We have swarmed to the west pier with the starling.
Diving for crocheted iron, dropped stitches of steel
In the pyrite sea.
Spitting stones over the wall
With lace lips.

We have been stirred by the hand of the Amazon.
Anaconda eyed, furnace fierce we steamed in the heat
Of spirit walking rainforest into the room,
Where January hung in the window
Beating the glass with freezing fists.
A voyeur.

We have slept in dark places
Plucking indigo children from the night
With feathered fingers.
Braved the flight dreams

And jumped retro witched and broomless
Into the space between enlightenment and certain death.
We have touched the cold ground
With our warm breath.
Tongues excavating old wounds
Clawing for roots, our tears still wet,
Mouths open to the memory of mud
Like seeds.

Growing in a circle.
Artemis laughing.