Louche Magic

Louche opal white,

as the water kept trickling gently

at the speed of cold fountain

in a green-fairy valley;

clear sprit changed to opaque.

And as the cloud swirled,

swirled with it every perception

of reality. A poets drink they say,

a mad-man’s bane.

In it all society forgot the witches.

Century ago she could be burnt,

for absinthe has magic.

Magical power of nature.

Mist lifted from head.

Sweat forming on itchy palm –

itch trickling down gently

urging to express, to write.

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