Mysteries of Light
       

Loosen the ropes.
Seven lances in her heart put forth blossoms.

Beneath a torrent, refuge—
As a little child with a medallion of chased gold

Aboard a ship, with birds
About her shoulder and a magpie on her hand.

An axe lodged in the roof,
A wolf whose mouth will proclaim.

One breast on a plate. Stone in hand.
Red egg, wool, sometimes a wound in her forehead.

Called to the ditches alongside the mine roads,
A continuation of things we do wrong.

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Copyright © 2014 Joan Naviyuk Kane All rights reserved
from Hyperboreal
University of Pittsburgh Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission