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