Bitter herb,
and sweet death of roots;
her mouth is a crushed geranium
and a wild sow’s teat.

She utters words heavy as earth,
and luminous as the lotus’ root.
She knows that heaven has a human shape,
and that the night sky is a mouth-
ful of quince.

Idol and chimaera;
she is the sphinx and the saint.
Her body is the boundary-stone
between beast and god.

Her breasts are the succour of poets,
her tracks; the glowing runes of creation.
When you meet her,
she will offer you a bowl of earth
and a branch of alder.

Leaf of Circe,
and loud flesh of mandrake;
she is the white moon’s dark twin,
and mother of the abyss.