Imagine hearing crows beside an empty, windless autumn sky standing beside a towering hedge. You’re looking for something way down at the end, you run to it while the yellow-green leaves turn grey and you find a cold witch waiting there for you— chases you home the faster you run the slower you go the candles go out the wind takes your clothes you curl in a ball from the force of her knowingness Where is the love in a nightmare that never ends? (never asked in exasperation) She touches your shoulder and we learn what we didn’t know when we wanted her to stop it— witches are older than fear “Is that what you think?” she says up in her office which breaths from the green on the walls she takes sips of her tea and stares at you deep and long like What can you offer me? “Did the animals have your wisdom?” I said. “Why don’t you ask them when you get out of bed?”