You turned my feet downside-up
Lady of the crossways
Held me by my ankles let soil
Whisper in the bone-bowl of my head
In which I still find myself downside-up
Hanging by my ankles down from
The boar-faced night’s moon-tusks
While my head’s cauldron simmers gently
Where these three paths meet, Hekate
The darkened sun stand deep
And very still. Gravity, multiplied,
Reaches out from the middle of the earth,
Makes my feet sink into the ground
Which is, as I now see, bones.
I’m standing on a crossway in the middle
Of bone-country, Hekate.
Which way out?
You walk away from me, three white ladies
One on each path. Being threefold
Doesn’t make you a good guide, Hekate.
Sorry to say that. As I sink deeper
I’m trying to decide: Should I follow
The one with the torches, the dogs, the snake?
Whilst I sink, inchwise, deeper and deeper
Down from this crossway towards the sun
How to get out, Hekate? I ask and white dust
Plasters my mouth and still deeper
And deeper I sink. You turn around, Hekate,
Threefold. You look into my reddened
Eyes through my eyelashes’ white and you say:
You’re right on the way.