At almost midnight my sweet girl leaves
the house and, as she goes, unzips her softly coat
and drops it somewhere near the door,
and wanders to the wood where she will join
a gathering of her sisters in a pagan dance
and raise poor Pan as all the girls
meet naked, crouching in dead leaves,
their grimly altar piece the fallen trunk
of some great tree which, when strong,
stood on the bark-layered ground
and saw these girls choose dark-night sacrifice,
hustle it in blank-mind torture way
and bring it down with deadly ease
and slaughter it with greedy, shrieking howls
and shrills of pleasure as warm blood ran,
spilling on the trunk of that great tree
which, when strong, stood here above the ground,
and saw that death by bitten jugular was not enough
to satisfy the lust of these great girls
hence some poor fellow resting near was pestered
into consciousness, pushed and forced
to rise and rise from where he curled,
when all he wanted was to sleep and snore.
He was commanded by those great insistent girls
to make unspeakable acts that are beyond
the worst imaginings of human minds
and there will be the same demand tonight.
The moon sits highly in the woods, all cream
and yellow, staring at the party in the dark.
Featureless observing moon, she makes no judgement.
A bird wakes up and trembles in its hidden place,
quite well aware of what is making all the noise.
He knows my sweet girl’s ways and watches
as her dust-grey shadow curves to stroll away,
out of the wood, to leap and land and sigh,
dressed neatly now, back in her softly coat,
entirely clothed, my sweet familiar girl.
Her jewel eyes stare wide a moment,
then small lids meet, defeated by the night
and her meanderings and all her wicked stuff