The Nightshade Scorchings

Where we gathered at our covenstead.

The black salt broken. Obsidian, rinsed. 

Mirroring fragments affixed and furnished,

At the space the marshland warranted.

Marked by badge with nightshade scorchings

Sending smoke to our goddess lowered.

Sigils scratched, set myrrh and camphor,

Fogged the woode 'til it touch the townsfolk.

Harness beacon by intention, armed

Pomegranates rest with asters fallen.

Evening signaled from the dier crossing

Gathered shadows convene in their watching.

Surrounding the fire with their liminal talking

Into the pall, from the mirrors we've mounted.

Tidal reds: dousing blue and grey

By the rite of this summon that Sauin ordained.