FOR
A GALICIAN
Black blood mists from the halo of the moon
cauldrons boil and witches wail
shrieking glitter from the stars
daughters born of Lilith,
made to breathe without a soul,
but with a writhing,
icy heart.
Open doors of Sidh
in Galicia.
Rock mounds quake and labyrinths shake their
stones
runic secrets split the sky
raging red with Celtic crosses
drawn by druids dead and rotted,
time before the Nazarene,
the holy Carpenter,
was crucified on His.
Dusk of Samhain
in Galicia.
In burning leaps through purgatory
shrouded angels guard the hearts
calling down the briefest stars
pleading with the stunted night
while wolfhounds howl and bay
to rip quicksilver
from the moon.
St. John's solstice fire
in Galicia.
Demonic hallelujahs soar
for stately shadow minuets
the purest pith of hell, a dance
while Sabbat flame defenders trust
in sated Eros warming still
turned glowing
spent
burned brandy heat.
Dark night of the soul
in Galicia
Then gossamer on goosebumped arms
Galicia's cloaked embrace
melting visions, mending scars
dispelling dread of hearts of soot
and stone
of women with strange names
of essence dark
of floating
ghostly moans.
Primordial nobility
in Galicia.
Forgotten nape hairs rise to reacquaint
delicious fear, returned
from Tilt-a-Whirls and Ferris wheels
delightful metamorphosis
to duendes chanting
werewolves howling
vampires on black wing.
Childhood new and breathless
in Galicia.
Eternity and everlastingness
screaming wind and squalling sea
firewater torched and tamed
sunrise on new sapphire days
where throbbing tyrant senses rule
yoked innocence
to blame.
Passion's ark baptized
in Galicia.
With the chill and dank of a catacomb
cold as a witch's tit
the visitor believed in pain
and pain unpierceable was pierced
by fearless tenderness
and strength of will
to love.
Ardent life the gift
of Galicia.