Perhaps my preconditions,
Are alarming?
That Slavic Folk Magic,
Comes from blacker moonless nights?
Baba Yaga?
Child’s Play.
I have zero desire;
To feast on children,
Or suck power straight from bone marrow.
Domovoy under my command –
Have softer duties,
Or tasks.
My eyes & ears,
In a broken world.
That Slavic Folk Magic.
