He is drawn by scented beauty,
And it is among soft roses that he finds her,
Following her sweet song, a melody
Half-remembered from some ancient time
When someone might have loved him.
It carries on the wind, and he, his black heart breaking,
Feels passion’s heat crack the ice that holds him,
So that he spurs his sable steeds through the flowery field
To scoop her up, rending her skirt as he grabs her,
Sending buds and stems flowing behind them
As they streak to the maw of the cave.
It is the sunrise
That she misses most.
These days, it’s bitter dark
As far as she can see.
Through endless days and nights
She’s lost her count of suns missed
Here in the belly of the earth.
When she squints she thinks
She can almost see
Green land, valleys and streams,
But she knows all along
That the horizon is above her
And the moon that hangs
Over sweet smelling fields
Cannot pierce the depths
Of this dark and silent world.
The goddess is arrested --
A shriek borne on the wind,
An echo of old fear,
And her mother’s heart
Races faster than her feet
As she crosses the land
To seek her missing child.
What is this fabric caught on thorns?
What marks on this burned path?
Forsaking fields and flowers,
Leaving grain to rot on stems
And grapes to shrink on vines,
She paces her great grief,
Deranged and vanquished
By the darkness where she cannot go,
And we, without her bounty,
Fall into famine, searching for succor
And finding only snow.