violets full & blooming in the waterbed
where secrets spawn rivers of rumor

lit by the ghost-skull & moonbloom
of a mossy dark evening
bride of the handsome whim

here , where the Old Gods lived their
ancient legends

(reminding us that our minds hold nothing
but this world reflected)

the scent of linden trees carry downwind
& the easy watermarks of stars swirl
deep in the ether

while
underground , a host of black
syllables feed the trolls of darker lore

like those last angels that
first betrayed us

the winds grow more devious & disturb
the eaves of this land
– all heaves towards suffering

elemental light of fox & wood thrush

I name thee, wolf,
your true name
into the wild arches of morning

holy the heart that does not tire of
carrying this [          ] -smakka–bagms

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