For a Galician

Black blood mists from the halo of the moon
Cauldrons boil and witches wail
shrieking glitter from the stars
                 daughters born of Lilith,
                 made to breathe without a soul
                             but with
                             a writhing
                             icy heart.

          Open doors of Sidh
                  in Galicia.

Milladoiros quake and labyrinths shake their stones
Runic secrets split the sky
raging red with Celtic crosses
                drawn by druids dead and rotted
                time before the holy Nazarene,
                            the carpenter,
                            was crucified
                            on His.

           Dusk of Samhain
                   in Galicia.

 Burning leaps through purgatory
 Shrouded angels at our side
 calling down the briefest stars
                 pleading with the stunted night
                 while wolfhounds howl and bay
                            to rip
                            quicksilver
                            from the moon.

            St. John's solstice fire
                    in Galicia.

  Demonic hallelujahs soar                                           
  Stately shadow  minuets
  the purest pith of hell, a dance
                  while Sabbat flame defenders trust
                  in sated Eros warming still
                              turned glowing
                              spent
                              queimada heat.

           Dark night of the soul
                   in Galicia

  Then gossamer on goosebumped arms
  Galicia's cloaked embrace
  melting visions, mending scars
                  no dread of hearts of soot and stone
                  no women of strange name
                               no essence dark
                               no floating
                               ghostly moans.

 
            Primordial nobility
                   in Galicia

  Forgotten nape hairs rise to reacquaint
  Delicious fear, returned
  from Tilt-a-Whirls and Ferris wheels
                delightful metamorphosis
                to duendes chanting
                            werewolves howling
                            vampires
                            on black wing.

           Childhood new and breathless
                    in Galicia.
 

  Eternity and everlastingness
  Screaming wind and squalling sea
  Orujo torched and tamed
               sunrise on new saffire days
               where throbbing tyrant senses rule                             yoked
                         innocence
                         to blame.
 

            Passion's ark baptized
                    in Galicia.

  With the chill and dank of a catacomb
  Cold as a witch's tit
  the stranger had arrived
               unpierceable fever wall
               pierced by fearless tenderness
                         and strength
                         of will
                         to love.

              Ardent life the gift
                     of Galicia.