IN MAID'S WATER
we've left the well-footed
road,
the rutted
and rebutted
road
of shadows cast
by towered glass.
opened closed curtains
for fusty moths,
chanted white spells with Wiccan's
goths;
left pictured
rooms and halls-
become un-scriptured
hills and squalls-
in maid's water
pouring down her
erect chalk man,
like a wild gypsy,
love tipsy
partisan,
smelling of cinnabar
and his cigar,
swirling
like whirling
clouds
while the changed wind howls.
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones 2012. From his book Pomegranate Flesh. All Rights Reserved.
In Maid's Water is also published in issue 5 of Catweazle magazine ...http://catweazleclub.com/?page_id=484