Sky Trail

This one is or is called
a witch perhaps. So she disappears, her
only trick.

Why travel? No home, (an inflexible, judged word –
foolhardy for any to claim) but she was there
a tough demountable equivalent.
Some can’t tell the difference
up close
under torture your
head beneath a cruel, clean pond.

Her skin is her bag
& now flag.
Great western wings weigh down the air. Oddly cold
her fingers clutch documents they are
a calumny of prayers against
labile ink suspicious eyes.
Fear the war cry of these new clerks.

Given enough time
(that’s a story).
The teacher & a cash register.
Some piteously
bright future. Which is taken
we’ll all be surprised.

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