Thursday, May 18, 2017


The Arrow of Morning

Mist rises from dewy grass, sun breaks out of the hills,
and far off, so remote I am not sure I really see it,
a flash of gold blinks in the sky.
I drop the basket of eggs and run,
scooping my sister with one hand,
heart pounding and head down.
At the door of the shelter I turn:
I have never seen a dragon before.
The sheep thunder towards the trees
but I see only hunger,
diving for its breakfast.
Elise squirms out of my hand but I cannot move.
The great wings whip open with the loudest noise I've ever heard,
talons grasp a small ewe and it is rising, rising,
flapping heavily, trailing smoke,
scales so bright I am almost blinded.
Already it dwindles with distance, laboring towards its
crag-bound nest where hatchlings peep like chicks.
Some day, I will climb those mountains.
Some day, I will be the arrow of morning.

Publ. Mythic Delirium 5, 2001

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