Scratta Wood

(From old Norse, The Devil's Wood)

On that night the sky was numinous,
Broader than any horizon.
It stretched—
Beyond time to infinity.
And the old stars glowed
Warming the universe.

I walked alone through Scratta wood
Claimed for the Devil by the Danes;
According to local lore,
With a stake thrust purposefully
Through a young girl's tender heart.

And the hoar frost tightened its grip
On the claggy sods of soil,
And froze as it did so
My heart, my blood, my soul.

In the church, a priest lit candles
A woman fretted over distant wars;
And I relished the soaring silence
The pure wordless separation
From the rancid rhythms of the world.

And I walked home with the patience
Of a man exploring his consciousness
Knowing that the devil was in the detail
And the intricate evocation of fear
Seeped from my bitter-heart of darkness.

And even my cynical, callous mind accepted this.
That we will always fear what cannot be seen.
That which comes to us in silence,
In emotion or subtle nuance,
From a nightmare, or a waking dream.