Before the winter freeze, 

A guarding of harvest is set, 

So poachers don’t steal a future.

But all must face unconscious fears first,

So those stories do not linger as long curse.

Fables are felt unlived in shared imagination,

In those darkest nights awake, mind a’dreaming,

Unraveling in networks needing an airy breathing,

So that a Pumkinhead can root in fresher airy dirt.

And so, tread light, cause:

“Creepers and peepers,

I have been so haunted, 

By shadows in wetfields,

And I’m very unminded,

That I might just occult!”