The Mystique

A still red pool of water is a pond
I can see in the sunset,
And the dark feathers of trees
Shroud it like a roosting bird.

Closer and closer it draws me,
Tighter and stronger the bonds
That tug me by the arm
As the sleeve of a boy’s shirt.

Fear and exhilaration drumming
In my ears and chest
I take clumsy steps forward
To the heart of the lake.

And suddenly a woman screams
Like a Shakespearean witch,
The strands of hoarse voices
Breaking out like ripples
Over a quiet lake; and echo
Once, twice, thrice and again
Until it’s in my head and in the forest
And it reverberates everywhere.

But the lake is still as a child
That knows more than she says.
That’s when I break into a run.

Who knows if I lived or died.