Tuur Verheyde
Lagan
Saint Barbara glides across the sea
Arms outstretched groping
The gale for a clue,
A divine chill,
Leading lowly towards the nape.
We worship in star vaults,
In high realms of deep purple;
We wander through cities
Like negatives, built with ink
Black bodies, lined with flickering
White light. We sweat through
Foam and sing through
Tempests. I follow her
Upon the bed of waves,
Panting with the sultry sky
And the horizon dark.
The Goddess comes to us
At night dripping in
Death through our fleeting smiles.
My priestess pulls me
Further towards the open
Sea. She urges us to be
Becoming not confining.
I struggle to let go of my
Self, still doubting
I can go on
Sensing. I tinker with
The tide in desperation.
We sink with speed
And thundering goodbyes.
The Hadal Deep grips us
Tight telling us to learn
The laws of change
Or drown, immovable.
But she, undulating,
Both becoming
Forgives my inertia
And rises with
The moon.

