by Elizabeth Creith
When my cat went missing,
I worked my strongest finding spell
- all-out, no holds barred.
But spells need limits; who knew?
Pyewackett came home.
Pens, odd socks, rings, keys, rain constantly from my ceilings.
Lost spirits drift in my hall.
I don't mind them - much.
It's the lost hopes weeping that
keep me awake.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010