She shies

away from people

 

keeps her hands curled

so her fingers

won’t graze the necks

of oblivious travelers.

 

Last night, in my dream, she touched me

this goddess of aloof lucidity

and pain, white-hot light

shot through behind my eyes

 

burned out the blue

of carnal knowledge

 

Walpurgisnacht approaches

a breach in an insubstantial road

that has forever called me

 

and I know if I am

to take that journey

she, Virgin of Light,

must travel with me

 

I go alone

at the risk

of judgment

by whatever waits

substantial

at my destination

 

Last night, in my dream, she touched me

the Limping Goddess

who wears a nightgown

of pale blue light

that shimmers my name

 

 

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Collective Unrest, Cough Syrup, and Blood & Bourbon, among others.