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
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
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.
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.