I become the bride
of Zcerneboch
this night
and cannot belong to you
the keeper of the light
but we are still the same
and while you are raging for the life and joy
I embrace this ancient dying
which is not the same as death
but just as overdue
under winter constellations
that already are reserved
for the wedding feasts of crones
when women learn the pleasures
of not owing up their beauty
but owning their darkest parts
and all of it untouched
but dirty still
with no one who will wash
our feet
to bless our resurrection
but we will be reborn in other maidens
after their petals turn
and I will not be yours
until you great Biloboh
have learned to keep the promises
you had made once
to your younger self
that you had no need to make
because while I die
and you dance on
everything is moving closer to itself
in the diametric dream
so drink and dance and sing
for this betrothal I have entered with the dark
all things are only seasons
while branches hunger for the earth
as much as roots must drink the light
so some nights I play the subterrane
while you’re illumination
and then sometimes
we change the part
and you are my Zcerneboch
and I am mad and dancing