The Oaten Bride Ix Poem by David McLansky

The liquid spells of the Earth
Are chanted in the dark with mirth;
Naked round the jagged stone
In the moonlight on the loam,
The dancers, silver, sparkling wet
Leap and dance and piroeutte;
Spining, stamping, joy-inspired
They circle round the burning fires;
And though the night is cold with mist,
They step with heat and leap and twist;
Glisteing wet with persperation,
Possessed by songs in celebration;
For by this rite of sacrifice
The village pays the Oat God's price;

A sudden gust sweeps the sky;
How brilliant shines the night-time eye;
The dancers shout in voices joyous;
Her screams are heard above the chorus;