Hunter’s Moon

I could not let this full moon go by without a tale, however short. This is the time of the Wild Hunt and the end of the season of growth. So I have a bit of dark poetry to read by the light of the full moon.


we clamor after infinity
with braying horns and shrill exhortations
we engrave names in granite and black ink
against the forsaking future
we dance around death
denying her claim
but even she will die
this is the only nature of nature
where there is stasis
there is no life
and change begets conclusion

how can these ephemeral symbols in sand
one wave wipes all away
only echoes in dark canyons endure
and even so
who will hear
who will understand these words
yes, even this little is lost in translation

and so we fear her
as she stalks backstreets and cradles
taking back her own
naming and claiming her children
trailing annihilation in her train
a thought expunged
and we are left with the dirge of forlorn crickets

we wail at black moons
shedding tears for erased eternities
and oh how we recoil from wizened flesh
abhor the decay of regeneration
setting gravestones against the sunset
even as we absurdly revel in nativity
delighting in firefly dance and butterfly wings
and the wide-eyed wonder of infancy
though we know
all beginnings must come to an end

and so we clamor
declare i am in the face of all that was
stake claims to clouds
proclaim perdurable remembrance

here were we
and out brief candle

we gather around the casket
telling tales of the afterlife of flames
cold comfort in these waning days
no amount of nervous laughter
will bend the laws of mater
she herself is subject
as all must be
for at the end of time
she will breathe her last
as all beings will
blowing out the light
giving her body
to the splendor of renewal
the only truth

and none will know her name
but all will be as we

©Elizabeth Anker