Captured

                                                                                               

The child wakes. A shadow 
   
wrapped in the touseled

 twist of her nightgown.

 Her heart
 
clutched in the fear-stained night. 
               


And opens her eyes to find  

 the midnight Jezebel 

preen and toss 

 her golden tresses. 

And pour a pool of moonbeam  



that captures my soul.



And the sly harlot casts

 her magic fairy dreams. And slips

 through the window.

 And flies nightward

 to slink among the stars.


                           
by Heather Martin