The Witching Hour
Our silhouettes wait to cross the street.
Meanwhile I pop into other worlds through the sewers,
to apple trees hanging upside down in Africa—
Then I’m back again,
to apple trees hanging upside down in Africa—
Then I’m back again,
clutching my ice cream cone, staring
at the girls with arrows painted up their thighs.
at the girls with arrows painted up their thighs.
