The witches wail with the wolves and invite you every evening with a look.
Burning pit of bones keeps you warm, and this is how things were since before you were born.
I know. I know. You talk to yourself repeating only this. The words' meanings unknown to you.
Let things break. All hands pulled in, back into our sleeves and cloaks, we share handshakes
with ourselves. The wishful hungry, happy simply wishing more.
I met you underneath a tent when the morning was cold and the grass wet.
You left me with an empty cup of tea cupped in both my hands. I waited for you
to return from the kitchen. I wished I checked the kitchen before I awoke.
Underneath the sunlight, all your animals returned to sleep.
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