low in ashen sky
hangs a sun past prime
its dim copper rays
become sheared ribbon
tangled in sharp branch
below the mangroves
under bent cypress
and ash turned leprous
by ruinous touch
of cold, dismal swamp
amidst reed and fern
entrenched in gray mud
a woman toils with
desperate purpose
suffocating dread
nervous fingers shake
as needle passes
through molded garment
stitch by frantic stitch
sanity undone
eyes apprehensive
skim stagnant waters
brackish, foetid, rank
pools of rancid bile
dark humors expelled
vision halts upon
mounds of riven earth
erupting black soil
gashed by twisted roots
viscera spilling
monolith cradles
jet tablets etched deep
with monstrosities
relic wicked beasts
in patient slumber
baleful thoughts intrude
of unhallowed gods
in timeless repose
beneath cursed abyss
chaos unalive
time presses urgent
as twilight draws near
for in the morrow
celestial realms
find sinister rhyme
southward equinox
ineluctable
as needle and thread
weave their final loop
culminate last stitch
compelled by cruel fate
she wades, step by step
into lightless depths
pockets sewn and sealed
laden with heaviest stone
Anon. – Roslin Scriptorium Collection [ID: 76750235] – National Library of Scotland – Translated by George Linklater
