you can only hear the doors closing."
nightshade and hemlock
they had opened a window to the storm.
it rained the day she
stepped foot inside a clearing,
vertigo and photophobia
the portrait of twilight sleep.
solana, there goes the next.
she turned at the sound. looked
all around, at nothing but
found nothing but earth and the
roots against her skin
the belladonna singing in her sweet, venom voice—
blind as a bat, red as a beet,
hot as a hare, dry as a bone
she scrambled to her feet.
mad as a hatter, bloated as a toad
she fell to her knees.
and the heart runs alone
through rime-coated double vision
were her own
crooked fingers reaching for dark dusty berries
imprisoned behind the serrated lea