In the tent, the witch tricked the many by
applying trapeze. She removed her lungs.
“Here,” she wheezed to the woodsman in
the front row, “for you.” He held them like
a garden. Like a bouquet of gravedaisies. In
the tent, the prices were final. In the tent,
she threaded her frost. It was the oldest way
to pray and the hungriest way to love.