Previous contributions from:

Rose Flint

Black Wind

There are nights that pluck at me
like witch-fingers, blood-sisters

I walk restlessly round the room
drink too much, tease, scold, scorn

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Instant of a Crow Wing

The year is closing down; days die on their feet,
nights are cold and distant with scathing winds
that knife our warmth of certainties, our small
candlepowers of love. In this deep hour

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Prayer to Live with Paradox

I want to be young in wonder again,
to hold a single seed to the sky and marvel
that it owns the energy of a star.

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Witching Hour

Tonight the sky is full of watching eyes
as the Ancestors press their faces
close up to the razor-edge that separates
the living from the dead.

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