The Grove - July '99

Sisters three
The webbed toed one, the cat and me.
Behind belly laughter and screaming dreams
Ancestors come.
Ghost dog curled around the fire dish
Ice haired drum guides
Hold us up with threads of skull black
Chatter from old stones.
And dryads leaning slowly into the night's groove
Like giants.

Owls cry.
Mole visioned and fox still
We slump into the circle
Trance drunk and sated
Singing softly to the rain sniped fire.
When shall we three meet again ?
To pick apart each other's pain
With our teeth.
To soar on black wings glistening like shrike
And to plummet through these brooding hills
Like bones.