The Roches


With us, its isness was obvious, and
The ones that followed us, they knew
Of it, too. But the broomstick fell
Behind the moon. It used to be a
Campfire, songs sung around a circle
Of rocks. But now it’s the burnt heart
Of a small witch. We scattered and tried
To tell it, each with different words
Agitated, we were heard. We had funny
Disagreements. But oh, when the moon
Came up all we saw was broom. All we saw
Was the broom. Moons wept. We were
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