The witch did not lie.
When it’s all down to hair and skin and promises
when she has suffered you cracking her open
in each pore,
she finds the nerve
The witch cannot lie.
Love is the devil and it brooks
no small sacrifice.
It has to be your morsel of innocence –
the one who needs you most, the one you can kill for,
you give up.
The witch seeks the devil’s advice.
He knows what it means to lose it all.
He knows about pride and falls, twisted ankles, broken wings.
He knows where to escape to when the beloved
The witch crawls about the floor
in wracking nights. She clings to windows and prays
to all the gods she knows to save her from this thing
convulsing her soul.
But done is done is done!
Now plain to see – her eyes! her feet! –
the twisted signs.
The witch howls.
She cut out her heart and set it afloat.
She cut out her eyes and buried them below
the foundations of your town. She returns every night
breathless, blind, whispering
a mantra to bring you back.
But you are sea.
You are wind.
You are beloved.
You are free.