Waiting for you

the long toothed
bitter biting shake seeing
widow maker
glares sideways

deep and hard
at the shadow
cast along the empty northern beach
north

wintry winds whirling up up
towards deafening skies
weeping dwarfs
dead rabbits and killing wolves

she waits for scraps falling
for feeding and food
to fuel her daughter
the needlewoman

the dancing soul seen
seldom, still silvery sharp
spiked deep
and violently living

homely in baron blown beaches
and sheltered
often
in empty dying crofts

eyes lit by pasts warlike
bloody needs met then
with teeth ripping through wild ways
and loving with out thoughts

the needlewoman lives
for
when you venture out
and wander on her lands

her cold fresh winds
will wrap you up
and kill your soul
then rip your flesh from bone

She will eat you raw
your dreams will vanish along the grey shoreline
the widow maker will laugh with love and joy
as her kin feeds well