Dragon, Wild

a bed, lined with moss,

flat against the earth,

its burden torn

dashed

black ooze

between your toes

and how is it

a blade, ivory tusk

flattened and carved,

slipped between

your scales?

you were the lord of the

skies—

once—

you glistened red

the gods laughed with

your wings

yet still this,

a dragon,

fucking dead

in its nest

eons of turning

the seasons green

red brown white silver

alive and stagnant

water,

gone—

killing her

is the pinnacle

of man's triumph.

So mourne for the willows

whose branches raise high

claw bent tendrils

cracked with ice

and buds brown

I mourn the sycamores

that shed long thin

gray bark thick

with maggots

They sing you a symbol

but you were breath

and screams and cries

and music,

you were the leaves that

fall ruddy

You should have eaten us

before we learned

to wobble