OctPoWriMo Poem 29 – Last Magic

With grace the light comes
Filtered through the frosted window
The stars fade
And the tangled pathways of my dreams
Wind out into the edge of my waking
“Come back into woods,”
The man whispers,
Hand on my wrist
He darkens into the shadows
And tosses a coin over and over.
The gold flickers like the last magic
Behind my eyes
The shadows divide and condense
And in a moment
I am gone.

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