Swathed in black velvet and chalk white face he swung a deep blue
crystal. Long, dark with gold flecks like some big, oily nail,
but with spots of rust peeping through.

Each swing clanged a thudding in my head
increasing to a crashing, banging in the heat of the afternoon –
sun stroke, dehydration, migraine - sensible.

A ripening moment of madness – could it be
unsettled emotion rapping at a door. Then a
feeling pinned my awkwardness

a writhing, frothing, drowning awoke bystanders
passing in a flap. A jitteriness embalmed the crowd
a common aching gap.

Then the crystal rippled swirling energy
evaporating interest. The black cloak lay in a heap a
feather floating where the stranger stood.