MikeDubisch

Witchfire

The perfect time of day

Framed by a fine halo of light

Stretch of land you might bury yourself in

A ledge from which to hang

 

Visions that act as pillows or toys

The cage of echoing heartbeats

The triangular halo draws us in

The caverns that bring out the beast

 

The limbs among which we’d be enshrined

The palms into which we place our sign

The feet that carry this coveted prize

The musk that stokes the witch fire