and then there was a yerning

sentimental for a manic and tragic last spring
when the planets were aligned but for a second there
was a ringing in the ears--echoes of the
ancient gong, that thunderhead which
snapped a crisp spike of lightening towards
my head, and that was not the end of it,
there were flasks of liqueurs to be consumed
firey fuels etheral and distilled-- breathe singed
with cognac and the mask betrays you,
for there is a smile
behind which reside, fangs and sharp teeth,
more like an animal than a vampire-- in the north
there are only owls and bats,
who penetrate complete power of the night
in winter there works a sorcery
which has yet to be named
she carves the ivory head of the spear
by light of a full moon,
with a halo and sundog