A bird of prey––swift, sure, fleet of foot
She intrudes on the mystic art
Bound in ravenous black, widow’s caul framing
Onyx chips bloodied, twinned and lambent
She steals into shadow
Terrified for a love scorned, a heart riven, still
She ascends to Moon’s dank roost
Face a plumed map of clashing laminae
Entombed in nail-biting lust, gelatinous and thawing
She hungers for that tropic balm
Where, atop lovers’ mount, at night’s end
She takes a bow, triumphant in sanity’s flight.
Copyright © 2013 Elliot Silverberg. All rights reserved.