A Possible Witch Poem by Leslie Philibert

A Possible Witch



you step like a puzzled vixen,
you sniff at damp bark
and beds of leaves,

clothed in burnt sticks and smoke,
your eyes are slanting snow
wary of ice and shadows;

this falls between us,
you wait under trees
or at frozen gates

on evenings when I late home
carrying the basket of stones
you laid at my door

Saturday, December 17, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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