Black-spirited demon cast in the shape of a horse
and no remorse
trailing from water to sea and keeping entrails
as your company
cast aside
on the shore.
Nuggle of Shetland and tangie of Orkney
thing of many names
though from each you’re all the same
backwards hooves
backwards
mind.
Legs, entangled, twisted into thick spirals
bared fangs, hissing, while writhing in piles
venom dripping from their smiles.
Rubies glitter in the holes of their eyes
their curse bitter; underground divines
only seers of a mortal’s demise.
Dazzling displays splayed out in leaves
warnings in doorways, form that deceives
treasures unseen kept from thieves.
Forked tongue flicking out between sharp teeth
he waits
underneath
the rickety planks
foam frothing round his raised head like a wreath.
Like a whip let loose and splitting the world in a crack
of lightning
black
tear a hole in the sky
ripping flesh, spilling blood from a body now slack.
Found a pail of fresh witches on my sill today
it’s the height of May, and sickness
breathes its heavy stench down the neck
of Shetland.
I saw the Shaggy Dog up upon his stane today
in the fog, with his fishing rod and bait
line cast out into the stormy grey waters
of Shetland.
Did you hear his wolfish howling today?
tugged his ears, sent him a-growl
back to his cave nestled in the rocks
of Shetland.
They still trace your face, these ghosts of wind
took you, made you spin and now how grim
what is you leave behind, the empty space.
Claws hooked in your skin, these birds of prey
stole you, made us weigh whose fault it may
be that the wrongs you committed, all sin.
Stinking of death, these winged she-devils
killed you, made revels your anguished levels
wringed your image, beauty and breath.
Pretty doves, with golden-spun
hair and thread— does their
presence not rip through your
heart, in dread?
Singing songs, with clear high
voices and aim— is it Odin’s
fault if on the blood-soaked
field, falls a sveinn?
Through them, with romanced
health and mind— who is to
say love’s war, not a game, a
dance, to their kind?
Ripping themselves from salt and sea
to dry, mossy land, where humans be
birthed from dark waters, leaving skin
slick with oil, their dark eyes within
moonlight dances
watching you, idly.
Waves crest and break upon the shore
marriage bands tossed overboard
seven pearly tears riding white mares
kin returning to his mother’s care
once boy, then fish
but see— now gone.
(fin)
