Winter white of my Queen’s desire the hunter of the night has come. She nods to me to let him in, and I desire nothing more. Upon his back he carries the skins and bones of coyote hunted in the darkness of the forest pines, while the bear is left to sleep beneath the stones and roots, intertwined. He lays them upon the alter along with many dried, white petals of datura blossoms and sets them to flames of orange. Their calming scent so tenderly seductive but without any warmth in winter’s crisp, cool air. I breathe in deeply, hoping she is unaware of the dreams the smoke and flames whisper to me.