A Magazine of Many Arts

I.

There is more witchcraft in your words than in the highest of candle-circle ceremonials

More sacredness in your smallest sigh than in the towers and arches of cathedrals.

Where other pyres leave scars, your fireglow kindles comfort and joy.

There is more gold in your breath, more divinity in the palms of your hands

More absolution in the twist of my hair around your finger

Than in a thousand churches in a thousand years.

When I look into the divine, it looks back into me.

II.

We were told that if we ever met past the edge of the clean, sanctioned light,

We would know only discord.

Our songs would fall flat and so would we, dance ending before it began.

We’d trip on our own feet–look, down on the ground, right on our faces

Like the first humans in the first Garden.

But in choirs of angels I heard my own voice calling your name before I knew to speak

In pulsing drums and racing hearts and every breath, I heard you answer.

We knew every step.

We didn’t fall.

III.

You took my hand and led me away from the sun.

I didn’t miss it.

Its light was always harsh, always glaring, always sharper than a serpent’s tooth.

The first time I felt any sun-warmth was on my back as I turned.

The dark blessed us both,

Feather-soft, nectar-sweet, wing-rush free and full-moon joined.

When opposing melodies meet, heavens ring with harmonies.

Rapture sounds best around a bonfire.

IV.

After the circle,

We stood together at a crossroads:

A pair of vampires, when no one would invite us in.

You looked at me–you still held my hand–and asked, “which?”

I smiled and said, “craft our own.â€

2 Responses to “Witchcraft by Roanna Silver”

Leave a Reply

Archives

Meta

Categories