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.