I do love that Aelfric termed it a harrowing, as if it were
A bit of guerrilla warfare, a quick strike across enemy lines,
Harassment, a predatory raid, not a cautious visit
Like Odysseus made, not begging like Gilgamesh,
Not exploring. Nothing touristy about it, nothing settled either:
Not an actual victory parade, certainly no obliteration,
A surprise attack and then an equally quick run back.
Here I am again, alive, sort of, hanging around my own grave.
Although, if I'm doing any harrowing myself, it's in reverse.
I hide out among the living and make my small sallies such as this.
I show up from the end of the dreams and the dreams within those dreams,
Having nothing much to say to the late grasshoppers and butterflies
Other than surprise. But I am not surprising. I grab a bit of grubby fun,
While the bees hum and the body breathes and everyone
Else is out getting on with actual lives, living while I hover
And listen for the praying mantis waiting, on my window, for dinner,
For no one knows the answers anymore and the dark is here,
Or here soon enough, and one more day away from hell is done.
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