April

Issue 43

I found a little lizard thing A-crawling on my lawn last spring, And put it in a jar. It roasted maggots with its breath, Transforming one and all in death, To melanitic char. I clipped each spiked membranal wing And bobbed its scorpion tail of sting, But still its clarion voice did sing; I listened from afar. ‘Pray why do you so fear me child?— When death will see us reconciled, And what was tamed again runs wild Beyond the abattoir.’ It then ensconced itself in thread Spit from glands atop its head, And not another word was said; I watched it from afar. It stayed cocooned thus ‘til the fall; When in a dream I heard its call, And hastened to reply. By empty sac an angel stood; Who shore me back of all but good, And pointed to the sky.