FOR THE GIRLS HALF IN LOVE WITH HEKATE
Mine would be a God of darkness
A God of stumbling around the streets at four in the morning
And of crawling under the blankets against the tears
And of bare snatches of sleep
And of getting through the next six hours.
That sort of darkness.
A God of small emoluments
Of grit on icy roads
Of town lights in the distance
Of the travelling gypsy hedgehog crossing the lawn
Of getting through the next six hours.
That sort of God.
And the big wonderings -
The slow cold swing of Saturn in the ancient sky -
Then getting through the next six hours
Becomes a sort of worship.