Rose and fell

Moist geometry unfurls.
          Dawn flushes the birds
from their silence

— hectic petticoats trimmed
          with disappearing mist —
and there, under a shaggy hem

          of pines, the monster Grendel
stealing home, mouth full
          of pinking shears.

His rough palm grips the bruised
          root of a plant torn
from a mountainside

          releasing scent of a more
legendary bloom.
                              His pelt

glistens, the girl’s words
          trapped moths
in his uncomprehending ears.

Wings of flowers
               fall and star
the path behind him

          as he travels
swiftly over the ground
          breathing     breathing.

 

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