I overhear the 

crows' conversation — is it

a squabble or news? 

Our cork boats rush down

the tiny fierce river towards 

an uncharted fate

The sky seems bluer

today, the air sweet, though 

the land's still fallow 

Nothing to see here 

but us fascist ghosts who with 

a wink renew hate 

Scars for hearts sewn on

our sleeves split to reveal the

burnt embers within 

The candle has blackened 

the hollowed out inside and 

squirrels eat the rest 

Jack-o'-lanterns lit

by flame flicker and menace 

unruly spirits