WEEPING DOWN THE MOON


A tall man named Redwolf
lays a silver circlet
fronted by a crescent
of polished stones upon
a woman named Athena's
waist-length raven hair

Alone I've walked this
path of twilight prayers
for more than two years
and never have I met this
many of us in one place

and as nothing more than
a young vagabond who
searches for America
by Her moonlight and
the whispers of birds

I honestly don't know
what to do in a roomful
of old European magic
unless we all decide to
go hitchhiking along
the Astral Interstate

So these Witches who've
been my drinking buddies
since I blew into town
have now led me among
sandalwood and candles

all praising the reflection
that none can see this night
the missing glint of silver
in the dark of the moon

"Just follow along Sparrow
but whatever you do
don't take a step backwards
don't worry your clothes are safe
and don't stare into the flames"

We begin to chant
led by an otherwise
silent cowled woman whom
I know only as The Maiden
no lyrics no hook no refrain

just a single vowel dropping
first a perfect fifth
next a perfect fourth
then returning to octave

while Lady Athena
the High Priestess
a woman of about thirty
who looks part fox
and part snow leopard

raises her willowy arms
fingers of winter twigs
bent upwards in the middle of
her grove of winter Witches

while water pours over her
clean invisible water from
the thunder arms of Aquarius

pouring black rain blue rain
damp as high fever rain
dry as drought clouds rain

soft as a sleeping
baby's breath rain
cool as a coy lover's rain

soothing as waves that
massage the knotted muscles
of the North Atlantic shore

water falling all over
her narrow lunatic face
over her black as a
mourning heart robe 

over ribs like piano keys
rising and falling to the chant
over feet as narrow as
the hooves of a mama doe

All of a sudden Hecate
Goddess of the Fading Moon
Queen of Lost and
Wandering Spirits

spins around and halts
Her eyelids fluttering
like a trapped butterfly
Her muscles tight as
a boxer's after a fight

Then She shouts to
nobody in particular
"Well what do you want
Speak your Pagan hearts"

For a moment or two or three
everyone catches their breath
Then Lelia softly asks
how to unlock the secrets
that plague her lover's heart

The One Who Knows You Too Well
shakes Her head and warns that
when you open another's heart
it will surely bleed upon you

but if Lelia really wishes
to make this spell her own
then she must secretly mix

a lock of her own hair with
a drop of her feminine blood
hide it under her lover's pillow

then place her lover's hand
between Lelia's breasts as they
fall into one another's dreams

Gabriel begins reading
from a scroll that Weed has
unrolled like a Greek orator's
daily marketplace diatribe 

asking Our Lady of Hard Times
for boons of good fortune
good food good drink good
health great sex glad tidings

good eyes good byes good
gravy good groovy good jobs
good grass good Gods good grief
goodie two shoes good to se ya

and when at last they finish
She blesses them both
and also gives them several
awkward sacrifices to make

with a couple of unsolvable
questions thrown in
then asks if anyone else
has any more requests

I can't pass this up
I mean how often does
your average Baby Pagan
Witchlet type dude get
the chance to talk to
the Boss Lady

right here in the flesh and
sweat and nails that could
tear a hole in your soul
or paint a new unbroken heart
over your breast and ain't
nothing can beat this high

So I toss a big smile
over my loose lips
and shout "Yea sure!"

She spins around to face me
waiting with the patience
of bare trees and I whisper
"um -- just wanted to say hi?"

Weed throws up his hands
muttering something in Greek
and the Maiden freezes like
a prey smelling hunter's blood

but the Old Titan just
draws a little smile
says "hello" and turns away

Then the old woman Katrina
an expatriate who loves
telling improbable stories
of Russian Sorcery asks

"why don't You stay
and join us for a drink?"
and a bunch more Witches
somehow forget to exhale

and once again She rakes
our little coven with eyes
that freeze stars in place
and boil up the morning sun

and a couple of us manage to
squeak "sounds good to me"

and then Hecate
The Dark Mother
Patroness of Witches
Guardian of Crossroads
Choirmistress to Howling Dogs
Goddess of The Terrible Truth

starts to cry
the waterfall now visible
immortal tears raining
over mortal cheeks

and She whispers in that
crisp white breeze common
to both autumn and spring

"It has been too many years
and Gods live by long years
since I have heard such a thing
from those who know My name

"for what most worshippers do
is ask of Me and every one of
My holy sisters and brothers
from Krishna to Cerridwen to
that Young fellow Christ for

"these pointless little desires
like the keys to eternal life
or temporary true love potions
or deep arcane insights which
We're always having to make up

"although I do love to visit
you My disciples to offer up
the hope of cruel advice and
dreams of warning and wisdom 
and the scent of ancient trees

"to steady you against those
lives of hunger and loss
that must drive you to draw
down a Goddess who never rests
when the storm winds blow

"But once in a while I pray
and yes even the Gods pray
clasp Our hands to Ourselves
and whisper of holy desires

"that now and then I might
share a cup of wine with
those who gather once a month
to drink in My silver shade"

Fortunately we have
an extra bottle
under the altar

After a couple of rounds
of drinking and dancing
and other Heathen virtues
She turns to stare at me
still with the butterfly eyes

and says I'm one of those
who can see in the dark
because I can't yet see shadows
and She will wait for me

and then it's over
Athena's knees give out
her lover Redwolf catches
her in his lumberjack arms
carrying her to ground

and I think to myself
this is it Sparrow
this is what I've
been waiting for
this is the spell
I need to cast

Later that night
nestled in Katrina's
Brooklyn railroad flat
with a tray of liquor
and some excellent cheese

Gabriel exclaims that he
thought there would be
this big flash of lightning
followed by a little
pile of Sparrow dust

and we all have a good laugh
while Athena sits in
a leather rocking chair
sipping brandy and smiling
at a very private joke

and the Maiden
whom I never see again
wipes the dust from
an empty crystal goblet
and hands it to me filled
with warm mulled wine

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This poem is from On Pagan Roads Copyright © 2004 David Arv Bragi