Hidden Rites

stars in the box—

frosted,

white,

crisp.

the last breath of the children,

stolen.

the first pure kisses,

the glass,

the splinter,

the slow-turning shapes

of stolen souls.

this kind of magic

is dark

and hidden in nature—

a cry, a cobweb, a shadow, a bite;

the chanting

under each cold stone,

the coupling

of every insect.