She knew what it meant to live a thousand years. She could see beyond the curve of each horizon.
As with all dragons, she was a searcher and until the child changed the focal point of her immaculate sight, she wandered to and fro collecting the glinting treasure others failed to see.
She looked in unexpected places. It was never enough. No matter how much or how costly the gleaning, once acquired it only served to remind her of her empty soul, her brooding heart.
Until the child…
It is your choice to believe.
The dragon might have always been a dragon and the story might have been the simple gift of a child.
Or…perhaps the dragon was once a woman who was robbed of her human form by the usual wizardly enchantment. Had she been foolish or proud? Had she refused the wrong man’s hand?
The dragon is not saying. She has wrapped herself in a mantle of smoke. She is thinking about what is to be done with the lovely small thing wrapped in a soft blanket, somehow sleeping next to the warm heft of her serpentine splendor.
Surely no child should be raised by a dragon…
She thinks
And yet how could she bear to lose him?
How could she ever bear to live away from this bundle of light?
I trace the veins
Once mined
Once quarried
Hewn from the ancient
Stone
Who would have known
Stone
Could be fragile
Indelibly etched
Like a lover’
s face
Lines traced
With the tips of my fingers
map a course across the rock/across the polished surface
That separates
You from me
Like myth from the living
Truth
Carrying Light 