another fog
in the fog, thick and humid
this morning i could be in wales or scotland
the bales of hay walk into the wood--kansas dolmens
mist and mystery
i quicken as the world strips away telephone poles and billboards
as we drive into some dim past, shrouded by water
the road cut through the hills yields layers, eroding, crumbling
away in some present
an eagle’s cry echoes predator
i crouch, wary, stalking the fog
mythagos creep in the periphery of my vision
blued picts hunt at my side
their uluations less alien than the weir
the shadow of a flight of wyverns eclipses the wood
the trees bend in their wake
the still of forest snaps with the crack of wings
and reptillian silence
trees scorched by lightning
and wyrm spoor
sheep bray in fear
sunlight brightens the fog and reveals battlements
scored by time, crumbling into the present