White Heath on The Bastard Bog

On trail, we drag

By tail, we spin
by hoove, by horn
Plucking mandrake children

Igniting Oak,

Cedar & balm

Breaking black salt

Honing callipara charms

Binding a mirror

Making the sign,

A Forest reflects

To keep their secrets from flying

Flensing footsteps

Snapping sticks

Craggish carvings 

Above hillside minstrels

Be that ere the set of sun

Upon the Heath, beyond bastard bog

Southern heat, for hardships chartered

Blowing East, for the journey farther

Western water, its mountains called

Northern peat: bellowing soot

Spindled threads 

Crimson falls

Tapestry woven

Umbra's law:

Vex a village.

Brand their bones.

Marking death,

For an indebted toll.

Barren hole

Dug in soil,

Clenching orange...

To hell it goes.

The aire of nite 

The breeze of doubt

The prairie pheasant 

The First Quarter crowd

Raising spirits

Waking dead

The Hessian rider

Leading them, headless.