has toppled the Lords of Misrule,
making rutting Fools of them.
The night breeze
pulsing with pond songs,
Sets the rhythm.
Caterpillar-laden branches dance careless
in the silver-dusted night
the ruthless passions of argent Eostre,
the fierce advent of Spring.
forgotten in a glut of eggs and hares,
sated by the sacred feast,
veils herself in emerald mists
and diamond stars
from the dead of Winter
a ravenous, ravishing beauty;
but resurrected – and there Spring’s Mystery,
writ in blood and sealed with kisses.
the midnight depths, I cast my woven will
upon the dark sea of the sky,
the moon. A thousand, thousand pale stars
slip through the web of my intent, but
is caught like a silver trout,
netted between my fingers.