O Great Hekate, Goddess of Storms

(The witch felt her power most during lightning.) 

 

At the three-forked, desolate road you copulate at

(He wore her inverted cross, gave his hair, unsuspecting.)

 

Homeless, crouched, wolfing down our offerings

Of half-eaten scraps of rotting food.

(They locked that inmate up for what he did.)

 

We placate you by sacrifices of honey—sweet insanity,

Black lambs—unspeakable desires.

(The patient slit her tongue, drank cleaning fluid.) 

 

Your dogs howl of death to distant towers,

Like our dog-desire to know the world beyond.

(Night of The Moon, Arcana 11, the card ill-bode.)

 

Hekate, goddess of dark country paths,

(Headlights light up the animal sacrifice at the intersection;

the psychopath picks up a lone traveler on the road.) 

 

In the hesitation between reality and anomaly

You live, Goddess of great distances and arcane codes--

(In her spell’s thrall, his anxiety surged when it snowed.) 

Mistress of that power which from afar controls

Love, thunder, and the dark matters.