Maire Fisher

The wind flings a magpie
high and flings me too, skyward through
the green trees to the blue.
The wind flings me up to the stars
and beyond, beyond far
and unfamiliar to face
the darkness of this place,
these silent gathering shades. Unlit
by bright-faced  moon they flit,
content to prowl, to sit, to lie.
A candle is not bright
enough to scare, to frighten back
the waiting, wakeful pack
of those who watch and track  my breaths.
A candle’s not enough
to scare, to frighten death. A beast
unleashed, unchained, released
it calls its throng to feast on me.
And I too scared to flee, can’t fly.

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