We follow this old mongrel and her kin
to stave off winters sickness,
the hallowed bite of mid-winter solstice
entomed in flesh, my sacrifice.
This ghoul of self,
this lycanthrope of the heart,
this plague of the divine is my home,
my altar, my whole.
when wicked songs speak your heart
and when the rustle of leaves to your left comes,
fall to satisfy this realm
and nest in the spleen.
make this holy
make this real
make this love