beside the dawn-water

the moon-arched bow of
the hunter, wearied of

slipping through shadow of
the willow leaves’ wail

fiery and ox-eyed,
moonshine brings her pale
fists , clenched

fickle / the wolf-god comes
in a null-moon lull-dawn

oxy-hued and dreamlit

morning bathes herself in ink
and blush,

sow-ish in unfolding its soft

warped around the fallen
warbler blood and blue,

thieving the dark work of her

sea-leaks stygian to the hands

our hunter made of light ,

lost in the white worn slipper of
winter -smakka–bagms


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