The Pantheist Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The horse holds some of the answers
As he breathes on a spider's swaying gossamer wall
He whinnies the lost music of Eden
He has stolen the gentle smile of the Mona Lisa

Where does the kingfisher's soul go?
Does it float to anarchic angels beyond the moon?

The silence of buildings is anathema to me
The glass wings of their windows
Live with the pulse of clocks
In the streets,treading the cobbled lanes
Is like walking on frogs

The speech of the media assails the ears
Like being pelted by wasps

At 3am visitants arrive out of the thin air
To kiss my bones, eager to eat my sins

Nightingales sing a requiem for a dying squirrel
Meanwhilewormwoodrots the magnificent oak

In the shadows, Medusa waves her braids
Those hissing fork tongued snakes of terror and rage
In the fragile territory of night

In the hierarchy of ravens, head frighteners
Rend the scarecrow in the field

My dirty washing flies in the face
Of wolves and daisies

Only mortals know the gnaw of guilt
That opens raw wounds, gives no absolution
My mother's Devil waits to unlock his gates