In the Wolf’s Hour

A poem about my Mandrake Ointment written by a lovely bone-collecting patroness of mine whose other prose has been published in Scarlet Imprint’s new poison anthology Mandragora.

In the Wolf’s Hour

via Scavenger Spirits

“mandrake
sing your dark songs to me
fill my head with visions;
drowned in ointment,
sink into the bloody soil of my flesh
send your roots deep
into the rotted heart of me
erase the pain;
send my soul tumbling
to distant worlds
as I dream the strange dreams
that are your gift;
give me your wings
shaped from shadow,
woven of loam and need
when I wail like a newborn babe,
whimper like a dog
half-dead on the road;
man, dragon,
help me to hear
let me feel anew
open my eyes
and let me see.”

Comments

3 Responses to “In the Wolf’s Hour”

  1. So beautiful and evocative.

  2. I love these words.