edge of the world

 

“here there be witches and dragons,”

they said

with their rotten-breathed words-

rumpled, boney fingers digging into paper images

too faded to read.

 

I know their imagination is duller than their one good eye:

they can’t see the possibility of wonder

or mystery

or whatever, truly hangs there:

on the edge of the world

spilling words from amphorae

like honey

and sticking to everything all the way down.

(c) r. l. elke