The sun lets go of meDarkness tastes the dampThrough passing cloudsLight brushes the earthI wait for the childrenLike a goblin in the grass

Released by my motherI lie beside her rootsUnder the cold lamp of the moonThe wind whispersOf figures in black and orangeComing through the yellow leaves

My sisters cloak meTheir dry edges crackleI dare not stirThe children are nearTheir fingers sweet with caramel

Hurried footsteps—then a crunchA bell rings through the darkFor a breath, the air pricklesThey pass beneath a cloudBlack and orange fadingAnd I lie rumpledIn the shape of a small shoe