I offer these bones of oak
    the children of the tree
To the wooden woman
     in the hearth and home

I strike a match, the sulphur
   fills the air, in trails and wisps,
       a crackle.
I hold the flame to candle

I spread a golden goblet of sand
   on a bronze plate of symbols
  Then place the candle there

I take a branch of oak
  fallen in the black street outside
  and write the shape of a leaf
  an epigraph in sand
  Carefully,

I place an acorn there
  Does the wooden woman smile?
    Does she know?
      Has she seen me through 
      the veil of Dew.

Let the candle burn through night:
  I hold my palms in praise
  folded over the blade of the rib
  I bow my head to Her
   Dear candle warm my winter
    I’ll carry this acorn with me 
      when I require strength.