but, when you tapped me on the shoulder,
caped in a tiger's brow of parched silk,
the scorch of age browning the freckled blue
I saw a dragon, heaving itself on hairy stilts,
come in from the snow to shed its scales,
livid wings eaten to ash and not even a spark
to call its breath. I gave you my hand
and made a cave of palms and fingers,
puffed lung-warm until you flapped free,
leaving only a shard of flecktarn wing,
a first ember of your waiting fire.
January 21st 2013
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