smokingboot

She often thought upon the end of things
The lake of fishes floating
Swollen frogs belly up
Like her world, her long mourned world

She dredged reedbeds seeking
Skulls and feathers and
When she found them,
Made jewellery for the trees

Discovering wasp galls
She pricked them into faces
With eyes and teeth
Hundreds sat around her

Each night as the
Swamp fires bloomed
The devil watched
Until pity pricked him

There at her side
Saying 'is this it?
Cries of a curlew lost
And the bubbling water?

At least in hell there's company.
There, when we freeze we dance
And when we burn, plunge into liquor,
Our voices roar!

A crowd of demons is still a crowd,
At least we are together.
What is the point of this
Your wasteland heaven?

So silent with no dream
Of passion or desire,
Nothing save emptiness
The lying ignis fatuus you call peace.'

She leant against him,
In that moment many things
He was but not
The Lord of Hell.

Her answer; 'if you are here
At the wane of sun and moon
And the movement of starlit creatures,
Show me my need, or anything I lack.'

He vanished with an unnamed wound
But visited her often from then on
And sometimes danced with her in the thin light
Where all grew still except their new born music

***

It's too early to make decisions about punctuation. I prefer the speaking mind to add its own, but will think on this later.