The white berries hang overhead,
a not-so-sly booby trap,
schemed by a stranger for whatever purpose,
no one really asks.
An eye catches the plan,
but its mouth remains closed
twists to a smile.
Some deformed relative of the Venus flytrap, the insect
lightly grazes her fingertips on two hairs
of his arm.
He takes his cue, his eye's plan realized.
He swoops her, bound under the magical powers of the mistletoe.
