good glimpses of smallish dragons

..

it’s the wings that give them
away, most surprisingly not
the hot hot glow of embered
breath. the marigold scent of
morning and good green earth.

they unfold themselves slow,
no more than fireflies, or snap
-dragons, dragonflies, tiny songs.

the sun rises on thorn claw,
gnarled horn. the rising and fall
-ing of emerald-scaled chest. we

always (all ways) let them
sleep, but keep their secrets
close.

 

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides. 

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