Syncopation provides a loose rhythm, going over fire drills that were lost after the floods.
She comes at night stealing the breath from babes and throws sand onto the chiefs hearth, queen of the moon, queen of the earth how the blood spills only for you.
Not for priests or kings but only for you, you who mock creation with your cold stare.
You who will the crows to peck the eyes out of waylaid travelers, who direct the spiders to their next victim.
The voice heard laughing in the trees on a night when the moon is full.