In The Grove Of Diana Nemorensis Poem by Shannon Walker

Silent skies, icy moonlight;
Diana's enthroned in the air,
Slicing through the North Dakota night;
A celestial body never so fair

Or brilliant as coy Inanna,
The patron goddess of prostitutes
And lovers everywhere, the Madonna
Of the inflamed and dissolute,

Riding high above the wilderness,
And looking for a suitor
In the Grove of Diana Nemorensis-
My Lady of the Hunt to die for.

Years and years, you've haunted me so.
I've stared at the heavens in bereavement,
Inflamed in the ice cold glow,
And praying for your holy descent.

While at the crossroads, Hekate
Waits for the waning moon to set,
And raise the one who dreamt to slay
The old priest to the cabinet

Of Her Majesty's divine escort
With the crash of a broken bough
Through the forehead, after a sort
Of ritual display that no

Mere slave could attend to.
And how it must hurt to die,
With a heart so pure and true,
Longing for you and unsatisfied

In the Grove of Diana Nemorensis