Under cover of darkness,
wings flutter.

Here there is no anthropocene;
no gods, no illusions; each life
inclusive of all lives ever lived.

A dry creek leads to a steep rock face.
I examine it for signs of art,
but see only knobs, flaws,
carbuncles and wafts of gray lichen.

Hekate can poison
or intoxicate, cause ecstasy
or insanity, cause death where
it is almost dawn.

Standing in a circle of ashes,
lift arms and turn counter-
clockwise, casting off the
recent passage of death.