Sitting near
the earthly fire
watching the flames reach up
into the primal being
of lightness
we feel heat about to encroach
and crashburn.
We might not be here 'til morning
and so we really ought
to begin:
It is time for the ritual
of gift-giving
best done
when dark forces take over
in smooth snowflake obsidian
under raging moonspells
and time that sometimes tells
in whispers of the earth-scented dance
of night creatures
I cast the first chant into
your open radar:
gush of hot metal
almost pain but not quite
you are being cleansed in black
and now must give back
passing the herbs of your tongue
onto mine
in heady tonic
an expedition
in the sear
of ghost pepper
garments are no longer
needed here
and we can now
cast them to the winds
as the ritual of
giving
only now truly
begins