by Marina Lee Sable
Herbs hang in the heady rafters
where aged smokes of incense and resin
coalesce in spells, potions, and dark magic
at the melt of day, the violet wreath of dusk,
when the mind-dragon rises from the hyssop
fire burning through the unlatched night.
Your pillow plumped with thyme and anise
to banish dreams, but still her lips of rowan
bark lure you to the tor and quaking moss,
foxfire lamps in the heather air,
silvered cotton grass, bracken, and
mist-glazed rocks, the enchanted moor
swaying like an ocean, a captive bird in her
cupped hand watching the wind fan through
her rippled hair, shoes lined with mugwort
as she takes to the air, leaving you behind
on the dark path’s flint and brittle shale.
Marina Lee Sable‘s poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Unspoken Water, Star*Line, ChiZine, Tales of the Talisman, Linger Fiction, Bull Spec, Sounds of the Night, parABnormal Digest, Bête Noire, Kaleidotrope, and other magazines.