Under The Wings

Prayer To Isis*

Ah,
all the wars are over, all forgotten
(but on chipped tablets and on cold walls
the nightmare of the pillar and the cloud).

All passions raised to monument the stars
have suffered subsidence, are wonky now,
point to a void which beguiles us
with unstitched ignorance.

But, oh, your warm wings enfold us;
and noses running with tears will know
the tickle of your feathers.

Your fancies embroider night
colouring the edge of chaos with a spiral trail
twisting within us we awaken to
having voyaged far, not knowing where
we wail out in the dark and feel you
nesting us,
                    your rough straw singing
breeze-keened lullabies.

................................

*Who is The Goddess, of course, despite the recent unforgivable usurping of her sacred name.