"Goddess of the Dawn" by Julie Mitchell

During the full moon
in the middle of the night,
the women gather by a lake
in the breathy, cool meadows near the Alban hills
and chant over an altar of water,
Diana,Diana,Diana.

They leave their clothes at the forest edge,
wear jewelry made of jute and vine,
seashell necklaces curve along the shape of their breasts,
and belts of grape leaves and flowers
hang loosely on their hips as they squat in a circle.
As the water boils,
evaporates to steam,
rises through their outspread hands
above their chants,
Diana …

tides roll in, constellations are lost in the glow,
and the nature we know by day
now seen by the nighttime sun's reflection,
is unknowable,
Diana …

each one's words are lost in the others,
and chant becomes call,
lilting and losing itself,
like the lap of each wave,
becomes continuous sound
Diana …
of asking.

* * * * *

I'll never fully know you.

I can read as much as I want,
chart the tendencies,
align the habits,
what you
like this day,

what you
say you don't—
I hate a day of details—
even ask you what you want.

But I'll never know you.

You are one of the Strega,
living by mysteries of
the ancient moon,
wiser than language,
more beautiful than I will ever see you.

BIO: David Taylor's books include South Carolina Naturalists: An Anthology, 1700-1860 (University of South Carolina Press, 1998) and Lawson's Fork: Headwaters to the Confluence (Hub City Writer's Project, 2000). He edited a forthcoming volume Pride of Place: An Anthology of Texas Nature Writing (UNT Press, 2005). He has published multiple articles, essays, columns, and poetry in such journals as Texas Parks & Wildlife, ISLE, Upcountry Review, Mountain Gazette, and Southern Poetry Review. Email: c/o Moondance