The Bog-Witch

Corner-light on the building injecting

colour into the

dusk-chilled sky;

skeleton tree;

in this world

behind blinds

(for we are indoors and speculating

like old women over g&ts

of limbs disturbed

beneath feet daily rooted to grass

‘neath a bench in the old castle ruins)

where all is drained or lit by candle.

Sad, the eyes of the witch

are awakened

under the brow of the old man

with the whiskery eyebrows.

She lies dead,

dead

under the tongues

of old wives.

Reviews

[Ariel B.]

That makes me shiver, with what emotions I'm not entirely certain. I love the aside.