Some loose-leaf poetry from “Declassified,” a ghost’s story.
in the still
I must refine
pull leaves from wind's stream
so to taste them
in a curl on the sides
little pieces
to consider
mid-dream
in the still
I refine
in the still
the still I must refine
the witches dance this night
one and all
they are mine
in the fire and in the trees
in the still
I must refine
the witches dance this night
their moon above
a snake afoot to mind
and in the dark
something moves swiftly by
as the shadow of an elephant's might
silent as a wind and her wight
I fade
in the still
I refine
in the still
there again
lo, not to the witches' sight
as they dance at their light
a ghost in mid-flight
a gleam of moon
long cast now fading
through the wood
as an echo might
through the fires burning
through the waxing and the waning
through the trees turning
a wind and her wight
but a whisper
in the ghost's tongue
this moment past midnight
in the still
I must refine
in the still
in the deep
in the dark she'd sew
in the wind he'd reap
there a glint
an odd cast
a turn of leaf
in the still
as the witches dance
in the still
I will refine
in the still
a wind and her wight
a wind to move a leaf of a tree
and a wight to move within
like her very own poetry
the witches dance this night
they move as one
a wind and her wight
in the still
they requite