Witch Burning In the marketplace they are piling the dry sticks. A thicket of shadows is a poor coat. I inhabit
wax image of myself, a doll ‘s body.
begins here: I am the dartboard for witches.can eat the
Only the devil
devil out.red leaves
In the month of
I climb to a bed of fire. It is easy to blame the dark: the mouth of a door,the dead
The cellar’s belly. They’ve blown my sparkler out.
A black-sharded lady keeps me in parrot cage.
What large eyes
I am intimate with a hairy
Smoke wheels from the beak of this empty jar.can do no harm.
If I am a little one, I
If I don’t move about, I’ll knock nothing over. So I said, fly through
Sitting under a potlid, tiny and inert as a rice grain.
They are turning the burners up, ring after ring.
We are full of starch, my small white fellows. We grow.
It hurts at first. The red tongues will teach the truth.
Mother of beetles, only unclench your hand:
the candle’s mouth like a singeless moth.Brightness
Give me back my shape. I am ready to construe the days
I coupled with dust in the shadow of a stone.
My ankles brighten.
ascends my thighs.I
I am lost,
am lost, in the robes of all this light.
(rediscovered, work from March 2021)