My laughter bites and my smile snares;
I can enclose an entire room with the
sweep of my gaze and men have been
known to run away howling.
I am a witch
and my bones are connected
to the cold rock and trailing ivy.
I walk hunched like a crooked woman,
crouched like a question mark
I shuffle along,
eyes earthward facing as if I long
to be consumed by gravity,
sucked back to the mud and
swallowed whole by the vast earth below me.
I am horizontal,
I do not tend to the stars so much,
instead breathing with the high clouds
and all the vast empty space above my head;
nothing up there but scrawny crows,
crows and flapping bats circling circling
far away from the ground,
far away from the sharp flint and wet peat;
soft moss and lush heather which
shrouds this wet, cold planet.
Ants and spiders scurry beneath
my feet, like tiny emissaries
and all the trees lean after me as I pass.
I am a witch
and the world is my oyster-
the world is my bubbling cauldron
and my all seeing eye.
The leaves are my skin follicles
and the pebbles are my toenails,
animals are all my different faces
and the howling wind is my laughing roar-
tearing through the air like a banshee-
my sister of sorts,
the storm holds me spell-bound
and my tears are the precious pearls
hanging round the mountains neck.
I see with everything-
I am everything.
Witch is my name,
and my power is found in the wings of a butterfly,
in the hooves of the charging buffalo;
it is glimpsed in the valleys face reflected in the
wandering, trickling stream
and it is present
in each individual sparrows egg,
each tiny and speckled and