Devil Bird

Come fell touch of dark,
when the skin of the world
is peeled back
does the devil bird awaken
ghost-winged
with feathers made from autumn leaves
to better conceal inscrutable heart
only the churring is heard
vigorous, vehement buzzing
from which old tales conjure
goats sucked dry of milk
of witches cackling in twilight
and yet the sound of superstition plays on
for the devil bird cavorts in moonlight
capering after sun-drunk moths
who flit towards dawn’s fickle embrace
and by morning glare does the devil bird flee
carrying plucked dreams
shadows could not seize

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