I am at a standstill between
two meanderings on
the flat, soggy dirt of an island.
There, on the not so far banks,
shouldered with wisps of dandelions
ready to leave their nest and forked weeds,
rests a beast.
She is a kindly beast, but a beast nonetheless,
coarse fur attached to loose skin atop rough sinew and
hardened muscle, eyes dark as coals without flame.
They query my rigid state underneath once-brushing willows,
now holding their breath, waiting for their queen to pass judgement
on my fate. My shallowed head dares to stare upon her gaze,
understanding few live once they have.
While words may be my preferred manner of communication,
I am still animal enough to recognize a decision has been made.
A soft and firm wind comes around the corner at the gentle nod of her head, upstream of the
meanderings, brushing my hairs and the willows;
they follow her Majesty’s orders as their tender branches impede my gaze.
As the willow branches softly fall to their sides once again,
She is gone.
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