by Christine Emmert
Dragons come by night
carrying the snagged ends of purple twilight on their wings.
They blow the stars aside
hindering their pathway.
They seek the darker corners
where disbelief shields them
from our gaze.
But we see them
in spite of.
Their breath
ripples over us
in hot passion.
Who can ignore such wonder?
Perhaps the priest or the minister or the rabbi,
lost in their call to another reality.
“I am here,” I call to the dragons.
The acknowledgement is momentary
before they pass on.
without any outward attributes
filling our senses
when the high winds change
***
Christine Emmert is a writer, actress, director and educator whose work has been read/performed in the USA, UK and Canada. Her latest prose is Dreaming of Storms which can be accessed on Amazon and other book sites She is currently working on a short piece entitled Albatross at Sunset.
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