Thursday, February 18, 2016

The Cambion's Tale

Dear  Readers: I had intended to take this month off anyway, but after some setbacks in the lumbar department, it really looks like it may be some time before I am well enough to manage much here. Please bear with me as I mend, and eventually I'm sure I shall return. I'll leave you with this little favorite of mine to chew on, and thanks, as always for everyone's concern and support. It means a great deal to me.






The Cambion's Tale





The wind rolls in the wildwood
tonight, teasing the last 
specklings of summer’s regret
from the moon-dripping trees,
fragmented friable tongues of 
henna and ochre milled to a dusty haze
that blots future and past, dead voices
rustling the leafsong that calls me to you
my hell born babe, heart’s delight
soul’s inquisitor.

Changeling and demiurge,
furred with frosted moss and mist
horned with bone, poised always 
to run; you regard me blinkless,
hermetic as a wild thing, gaze of
opals burning through the veil where
I pretend to be protected invisible
as Niniane, everlost instead
fate-tangled and resistless to 
the beckon of that blue unicorn eye.

So I come out of the night
for your lichen'd kiss, rain
cold, a drenching draft of rust
yet sweeter than any vintage
pressed from the sun's full flaunt. We're
as fallen as Rome remembered, love,
all my smooth green weight leaning
on the colonnade of whispers
you pull from some pocket in
the heart’s shallow grave.

My breath is gone again;
you’ve whistled for it. Lost
dog of my hollowed lungs,
it lopes at your heel, leashed 
tighter than the strangled chest
that knows its next gasp for last.
The night wind blows brimstone
around us, where the idol burns a
fading sandalwood smoke
bolted with blood, spiced with loss.

O there’s nothing wrong with us, love
that reincarnation won’t cure.



~October 2011
revised, February 2016




cambion: According to the Malleus Maleficarum, the offspring of a human male and a succubus, or a human female and an incubus. Caliban and Merlin are both assigned this dubious distinction.


*The last two lines are extrapolated from an anonymous saying passed around in the 60's.


Image: The Bathers, 1904, by Odillon Redon    Public domain. Manipulated.