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Circe 431
she comes as youth wearing her net
she ransacks our pockets taking
our hearts our spectacles and our poor lamb of god
then disappears through a watery keyhole
when we notice our watch is also missing
our mouths open to cry
but they are just as quickly filled again
with suits and hats and mittens and widows and feet
we are cut through with the challenge
and hauled up on a sacred reef
allowed to shrivel before the redeemer
our shrill pantomime now worthless, comical
she appears and takes our hand
and leads us, muttering, home.
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