Poetry Chapbook 22

Needful Necromancy

Sheltered by ancient potting shed I stand
my hands are cold and toes in heeled shoe
I see you looking at me, dearest child,
for through the window I see lurking, you.

Stay not your hand with wicked carving knife
for nothing here on earth could change this view:
No snik-a-snaking blade will save your life
for through the window I see lurking, you.

I am a product of that which you fear
for through the window I see lurking, you;
and though I died upon the ground right here,
my beloved child has need of me anew.