Witching Hour

I see her arm outstretched in the trees,

fingers reaching as far as possible

like rays of light glittering on the river

but my world and her land is out of sync,

as she moves behind the leaves

on a reversing travelator never to be seen.

I know that I should not follow her in to the woods

for once I tread inside I am sure

that I would not be able to find my way back out,

but the way those rays of light

still dance on the ripples nearby

invites me to make an impulsive decision.

And so in I step, clambering over a wooden fence

that has seen the worst of its days, in mossy decay

and as I trudge on the soggy grass

toward the boundary I notice

the sudden shade made by the approaching trees;

it is witching hour and I have lost my light.

But now I have already committed myself to follow,

so onwards I must go into the shade,

and should I find myself alone and lost

I will know that it has been the cost

of the hasty decisions that your witchcraft has made;

I have lost my head in your sleepy hollow.