The Sacrifice At grim midsummer earth opens a carious mouth The stonecircles are cold for sacrifice Then we gather in one guttural tongue Kneel silent as the sun rises over the motherland Shadow sticks its dried blood to the long barrows Splashes the shattered stones After the rain We will plant the gourd shaved and washed in the warm peat Tug the bled shadow to the fen and stand as one Watching the rough husk slide under the brown water Priests calling the harvest. Robert James Berry |