The Ghent Review Volume1, Number 1, summer 2016 | Page 34

a suitable song to sing.
Now the moon’s halo gathers round it
like a brightness not given to many,
a ritual dance might sanctify this moment
but who can dance where the hoarfrost gathers?
Then call her name and call for peace
and break the emptiness of song –
call her name for grace
and break the emptiness of song.
*
She has been sleeping
but now she wakes
now she makes the morning her own
by ritual and incantation.
See her as she sees herself in witch-lore
(it is ancient and ripe in her heart)
(the sweet corn ripens in her hands
and of the chaff there is a winnowing)
who moves among the ferns and tall grasses
like one with rights
native to this ground
and equal to its expectations.
Oh she is bright and beautiful
head-strong (as the wind is strong)
and passionate
yet cold as the moon requires of her
when in its full season.
Now she plucks a twig from a bush
now she gathers wild parsley
now she is singing the ancient rites
she is faithful unto.
The water stirs in welcome at her approach
she with the ways of water within her
she with as many names
as there are directions to the wind.
She is bracken, gorse, and grass
she of the rich earth
and its festivals
the Madonna carried shoulder-high
through the byroads