In the autumn, she doesn’t take
The easy way out and become untouchable,
The goddess of the woods, but remains
Human, and takes five lovers
To share every night with
As a remedy against the cold
In her hut of branches and leaves.
They’ll be dead come summer,
She knows, will die exhausted,
Spent spectres of the young men
They were when she gathered them.
She lies back and smiles, invites
Them in with no more thought.
It heals, this heat of friction.
This is the way of the gods.
R 07/11/2023 18:12