These Red Nights
On the nights when Nut is bruised blood red
and pierced with false satellite constellations,
on the days when all our protests, passions,
fears, seem hopeless and unheard,
on the nights when lives laid on the line
are bone and dust and ash within our mouths,
on the day when women turn to torture --
how can we not leap into the emptiness
that enthralls the world? How can we not die
beside this path of broken Beauty?
This is how. Remember what we do
those of us who love the Goddess: we love.
Our hearts are stars; still, in the unseen place
without even sight of our healing, we love.
We become Nut, our heart-stars linked,
holding the Goddess, so we are the arc
and the night and the light and the dawn,
we are the world's hope and the earth's holding.
© Rose Flint 2004