Peccant

Somewhere between one obligation
& another task to be checked off
Out of focus behind a slight dewy fog
Letting off steam & a moment’s reprieve
from solitary drudgery

We’ll burn the witch
& Solve our problems this way

answering chipper smiles
In kind
behind cloth torches passed
In a newish way

Charred pages curl in on themselves

Blooming grey messages buried in signals