Night Painting

My favorite ghost
is
the witch.

White-limbed and supple,
she dances; fire-brands
in her fists.

Chasing the pattern
of her steps, the sand
in our garden changes
color: swirls of emerald
and deep rose.

When I said,
let's buy a house in the English countryside,
you humored me,

but scoffed at my ghost
visions until the
seventh full moon of last year;

you watched, with me,
the witch as she whirled,
clothed only
in the net of her hair.

Ritual complete, she fades
in the moonlight; leaves
in the sand her richest
colors.

1990

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©2005-2008-2008 Barbara L.M. Handley

Contact Barbara Handley at mailto:ardea@flipsideb.com

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