Glass: A Journal of Poetry Volume One Issue Three       


Chris Crittenden

Halloween
 
yellow triangles
hover like aches,
ignes fatui
in the gaze
of charmed squash

as children giggle,
guised as old scratch,
zeus, hobgoblins, wraiths-

rabbits and wolves,
pookas and pucks,
refugees
from sarcophagi-

reapers, angels,
rakehells, sylphs

who cackle as they skip,
juggling snickers
and groans

while the wind knifes
through barrow leaves,
lofts them like clouds
of derelict spiders;

and the moon lubricates
her black-cat eye
with a cloudy
witch-cape rush.