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!