Within
An illuminated fog
All hazy and slanted
Everything clear but
Nothing clear cut Heather
Has a funny kind of heat on
At her wrists and fingers uncanny
Radiance like a torch reflection
Fine probing points of violet hued
Dim rippling flashes on the wall
What kick has she some kick of her own
Her unaided spiral a lilac in the current
A weed on the grave between her and the door
A calcium glare a shudder at the thought of
Heaven down here in the shadowy wild tale
Of the weird goings on under the black light