Diane Funston

Witches Pits

In a forgotten cemetery back East,

there are deep pools of unmoving water

locals call witches pits.

Legends say that women

accused of witchcraft

were buried at the bottom,

broken-limbed but alive

as water poured in,

covering guilt or innocence 

with blue-green still water

disturbed by an occasional ripple.

Your eyes are witches pits.

Deep.  Still.  Blue-green.

If I look into them too long,

I am dragged deeper into desire

than I sometimes believe 

I can climb out of.

I struggle against unsolicited 

wetness that envelopes me,

but

      I

        fall,

a body seeking a ripple

from your touch.

My guilt or innocence buried

in the deep still pools of your eyes.