Friday, 3 January 2014


Run, little god,
On your sharp hooves
Little god of wood and bower,
Little god of the three horns,
Run with us.

We scatter
Silken linens,
Palace-soft feet
Sting to the crackle
Of breaking twigs
And tearing skin,
Our mouths sweet
With the red blood
Of men and grapes,
Free and wild we run
So come with us,
Little god,
Be not afraid.

Frantic clouds
Race moon darkling
Shadows in the wild
Before us wavering
Through the slender
Saplings runs tender
Palest flesh
Panting breath,
Enticement lures us
Feeds and breeds
Desires in us.

Run, little god,
Tomorrow we return,
Mouths bruised;
To spindle and cradle,
To mind the fires,
And weave and ladle
Gruel to our masters,
But this night
We run, and hunt
The heated dark;
Run, little god,
Love is devouring
And is devoured
By us.

Manuela Cardiga

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