A thousand names and more

If    
   
this were to be final    
when dusk turns dust    
I would watch the last paragraph    
of the last poem    
from each outline  
of a cloud bathing in a light    
   
I would catch tears    
through moons eyelashes    
knowing bridal rites of the sun    
watch each chaliced spiral rise    
from mesopotamian sea    
where driftwood finds me    
   
I would meet you once again    
where all threads are woven    
to invite what becomes us    
you the initiate would exhale    
what is feared for, what is muted    
as ancient stone    
   
our wombs would be allive    
as we inhale this feline energy    
to roar shake free our lioness manes    
our siblings and staff sisters    
half burned at all stakes    
   
for I am Freya    
sister of Seidr    
naught ever    
shall I hold my tongue    
   
it was I who taught Odin magic    
therefor I re enchant  
   
to bleed is my birthright    
I am not a consort    
for I am the  faceless hunt  
 
   
If there is peace    
in all madness    
in all exile    
   
let it become you    
   
   
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