That boat house on the bayou

Darkness stills all moving mouths,
allows the night to feed,
cypress trees with calf like legs
dredge deep inside black water.

Daughters of the riverboats
float evening mist on silver moss
lost souls that search for candle light
fight inside the troubled murk.

Covert creatures call out names
tamed by broken legs and stones,
grown weathered as the greying slats
lapped tight to form wood walls.

Fall foul of a monsters running cry
try to conjure bold self belief
meet my bleeding unstitched lips
sip life from those who call me witch.

Author's Note
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