Here Be Dragons Poem by Diana Thoresen

Our rose line roots
Reach down into the stars

A nursery of azure seas spilling
Into a chalice with pomegranates

We are serpents who guard
Every flying eagle of a planet

Death is a blackwork embroidered line
A texture

A tone
Dragons gaze at spidery counted-thread waters

That speak a tenseless language
We only trust a faded dream

And listen to the deep, soft owl song alone
Here be fiery dragons, here be thundering rivers

Our phantasms are our hidden gold
Everyone is an inner circle