Mysterious Strangers

Pouring poison clear as water.

Heavy glass, cool as ice.

Downing in one,


Of anything amiss

In the bejeweled goblet that weighs down the hand

Of the sojourner in the inn without cloak or hood.

The drinker takes it

When offered with a bow.

The hearts held in the drinker's hand

Fall just as he.

First drops, the deadliest.

But it is silent

As the sojourner

Conjures his cloak

From the air swirling 'round him.

And with a wave

And a hidden smile,

He is gone.