frost-laced pine
a crow's silhouette
bends its top

whodunnit...
between pages with the murder scene
a squashed moth

he texts
he will be late...
all night fog

the feather of Maat...
what to do
with this broken heart

was it the breeze
or a bird taking off...
beech leaves in my hair

day of the dead
strange faces by the names
i used to know

all hallows' eve
the wart on my nose
begins to itch