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Sometimes a wild god sits at your fire
He does not know the ways
of conversation, of haggling
and pleasantries
His voice makes of your meal
a stone in your belly
Sometimes a wild god sits in your light
When he arrives at your fire
you will probably fear him
For he reminds you of something dark
you might have seen about the old ruins
Or the monsters you do not wish into the daylight
Sometimes a wild god sits near your warm haven
When he approaches your seat
he does not rustle the undergrowth
Instead he clears his throat,
silencing the restless boar
though bright beetles buzz
in circles round his head
You do not want his company
You are very busy
It is late, or early, and besides
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry
Your donkey brays,
And the god smiles
He holds out his hand
and the donkey licks the salt off his callouses
Then leads him to warmth
The wild god sits at your fire
Ivy is taking over your bedroll,
Mistletoe has moved into the donkey's reins,
And sparrows have begun to sing
an old song inside your saddlebags
"I haven't much," you say, and sell him the worst of your wares
He sits at your fire, bleeding
He coughs up foxes
There are squirrels in his eyes
When your traveling companion grunts a sleepy question
You close your eyes and tell her
Everything is fine.
You will not let her see
the strange guest at your fire
The wild god asks for water,
And you pour a mug for him
Then for yourself
Three lizards are beginning
To nest in your voicebox
You cough
Oh, limitless time.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of lives.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.
You cough again
Expectorate the lizards and
Down your mug of water
Wondering when you got so old
And when your ambition went
The wild god reaches into a bag
made of metal and light
He pulls out a twelve-holed flute
and raises an eyebrow
And all the birds begin to sing
The fox leaps into your eyes
Squirrels rush from the darkness
The lizards pour through your body
Your donkey brays and next to you
Your friend both dreams and wakes at once
The wild god dances with your donkey
You dance with the nightingales
A white stag pulls up a log
And bellows hymns to enchantments
A heron leaps from branch to branch
In the distance warriors pour from their tombs
Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields
Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs
The hills echo and the grey ruins ring
With laughter and madness and pain
In the middle of the dance
The flames take off from the ground
Clouds climb trough the grasses
Lightning pounds its fists on the leaves
And the moon leans in
The wild god points to your side
You are bleeding heavily
You have been bleeding for some time.
Possibly since you were born
There is a bear in the wound
"Why did you leave me to die?" Asks the wild god, and you say
"I was busy surviving. The roads were all closed. I didn't know how. I'm sorry."
Listen to them.
The foxes in your neck and
The lizards in your arms and
The heron and the squirrels and the deer
The great un-nameable beasts
in your liver and your kidneys and your heart
There is a symphony of howling.
A cacophany of dissent.
The wild god nods his head and
you wake on the dewy grass holding a knife
a mug and a handful of brown fur
Your donkey is asleep cradled in the warm coals
Your friend is stirring, far away,
Your cheeks are wet with tears
Your mouth aches
From laughter or shouting
A brown bear is sitting in the morning light
Sometimes a wild god comes to your fire
He does not know the ways
of conversation,
of haggling and pleasantries
His voice makes of your meal a stone in your belly and
raises the dead
as he was raised
Sometimes a wild god
blesses you
With the curse of knowledge
of lives past
How many times
must he fight the same battle?
Sometimes a wild god
desires the mortal company
to remind him to fight
Sometimes a wild god
will triumph
Today,
tomorrow,
yesterday,
the day before,
two weeks from now
will he triumph
Sometimes a wild god
sits at your fire