Quarrels in the forest known.
Gudrun sulks, swims the river’s
silence, curved whiteness mantled
in riverweighted hair.
Holding the universe together
by ash-root and stem, betrayed
near the reflecting waters
by prim, ruthless strangers,
forests looted of shadow,
arsenals of gold cloisonné.
Winds roar summonses
of beasts to bones,
the hacked nudes unknowing
where? why?
Cold lids ring the golden gore,
swallow-jargon claims the light
wrapped itself in death’s arms,
never once stopped singing.
Darkness dared day’s oncoming,
muscles threshed, speech torn to ashes,
doom bent back like a bride.
Gudrun hums a mockery
of melancholy, hides her anguish
with a veil of thorns.
A dream sears and fails
to pierce the polished mail
with kingdom come
the sound of the findhorn’s name.