Once I was a bit witchy
I wrote 8 on papers
Chanted dreams in mirrors.
Held my 8’s on scraps of paper up to the moon.
I burnt them up
And wished more.

As a witch I strolled under the moon
Needing it on my skin
Like I need the sun today.
The streets were empty
Sidewalks empty
Weeds on full alert
Tall as soldiers

I lost my magic
Ex witch
Now I sit inside or slave under the sun
Sweating
Breathing hard
Pulse on fire
And wishes?
They no longer come true.