The Witching Hour

The Witching Hour

This certain angled hour
you slip between the worlds
and every hill a short shadow
penciled-in crevice and
the air a fading marigold.
Nothing here is flat. Here is up,
down. Here is forward.
Here the sun is stuck
at 7:42pm June 27th
this is not the witching hour
waiting for the light to change.

Frequent Fog. Kat N.L.M. Some Rights Reserved.
Frequent Fog. Kat N.L.M. Some Rights Reserved.

If you liked this poem, here are a few others:

To My Hometown
Ars Poetica Op.12 No. 4
Wanderlust
How Majestic is Your Name (Psalm 8)

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The Witching Hour