Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Witchcraft fell from my hands

I folded paper into a crane,
then lit it on fire in my hands.
I asked the wind to take its ashes away,
But I dropped it, ashes and all,
Before it burned me.
Nothing now remains of the crane,
The witchcraft I let fall from my hands.
I wished, “Secret Benediction, ease the woe away,”
But a wish does not make it so, at least,
Not when wished by me. 
© Brendan Owen Keenan, 2013. All rights reserved.