Judith Borenin
Pipes
Like a priest
dispensing blessings
I dismantle
the spider webs –
sticky threads
of night’s eiderdown.
Strung between tree
and tree along
the pathway -
invisible - save
the hanging dead –
left suspended.
I beat them
down with a broken branch – a scepter
to dismember
the viscous
strings that wrap and cling
imprisoning
souls with hairy
legs. Nights hum
with crucifixions -
the jigs and reels
of hollow husks
played upon
by pagan lips when
the laughing sprite
winds jag down through.