Brother Aconite, your prayers
form frosty beads at Matins blush,
dew slowed to sequins, crystaled spheres
shimmering in the reverant hush
of sunrise, dawn-dappled shade.
Blue-hooded friar, beneath your cowl
the bee sips wine of darkness made –
unhindered by your poison, prowls
from bloom to bloom, a pilgrim-thief.
Your deadly vintage serves its cure
by full moon’s light to wolfish beasts –
Compline chant in toxins pure.
Monk’s-hood, wolf-bane, aconite,
dark prince clothed in purple light.