Shapeshifter
Richard Dawson
Leaving the path
Lured by an emerald
I wander into the Bog of Names
Now I'm stuck fast
Calves sorry henges
Glued with the silence of newts in the gloaming
My leather flask
Froze to my hand
Globelets of wine rubies on my chin
Away, away
Through the soil
Alder roots will draw in me
To forge the bell of the tree
Peal! Away to the hall of clouds!
Out of the gloom
A figure approaches
Wrapped in a garment of northern light
Heaves me free
Gives me a potato
Escorts me to the edge of town then turns on the heel
Failing to hide
A tail striped
Following always the cusp of night
Away, away
Through the soil
Alder roots will draw in me
To forge the bell of the tree
Peal! Away
To the hall of clouds!