He was born with the fullest eyes and a mouth made of joy.

Three-faced Hecate whispered to the moon

‘This is he.’ Since she could already see

That magic flowers would grow from his lips

And bloom in people’s hearts.

Like the heart of the girl who swims in his arms

On those crystal days scattered like blue stars

In the sky of her soul.

The old rock rolls round, pulling the thirsty moon

Starting their sweet communion.

Stars burst in her multiple head, 

The pulse in her divided heart quickens the flow

The chambers surge and grow.

She wants to curl him seed-like back to her,

Close as dark Rebirth.

Earth tilts once more, tipping the green up the phloem.

Winter’s dry-beaked, scuttling retreat

Over the hissing beige grasses that stifle the young years

Scrapes in his ears. Then it’s gone

To a distant cave to wait out the blood-magic.

For now he drinks

And sheets of shame are joyful banners

Of white and red for the witch of love.


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