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



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