Nightmage

by Oliver Hunter

The well is cold

its stones lined across

up and down

thirsty moss listening

night tendrils taut

(the hour is set)

(the moon is clear)

elk–gaze standing

and woken, fibre skeinskin

caked over, slash–marked

with ghost pipe clay

the lips breathe, darkling

(the hour is set)

(the moon is clear)

and from shadowhollow temples

membrane quickened places

springs unseen movement

secret musics

dreams of ivory, dreams of horn

(the hour is set)

(the moon is clear)