Unicorns I: A Dragon Turned Inside-Out
From Unicorns: A Cycle of Six Poems of Redemption
A red-haired man with a face like a pike,
Who sits a lava-black horse, to her right,
Waves her on from under towering spruce
By a poisoned stream all dead and foul;
A black-haired man with great, sad eyes,
Who holds the reins of a chestnut mare,
Calls mournfully to her, from her left,
By a cactus-patch near a serene lake:
Before her, a huge apparition rears,
The bleached skeleton of a long-dead mare,
The wild Night-Mare, riderless,
Queen of the dark and the bowels of fear,
Her rotten hooves and long, poisoned fangs
Slashing like razors so close to her face -
Where will help come from? where can she flee?
Who can save her from Marhi Llywd?
* * *
She has a long rifle slung at her back:
Can she retrieve and load it in time?
And what use are Life’s weapons against the Dead?
Can the two who call her from left and right
Come to her rescue from so far away?
She looks up into that fleshless mouth
And sees her death grinning at her
With tombstone-tall teeth. Yet there is still time
To run, to choose - what should she do?
How can she save herself? Will she do it?
* * *
The fair, lean redhead with eyes so foul
Whispers, “Darling, I will rescue you -
But give all you have and are to my keeping,
And you will never again know fear . . .”
The sad, dark man calls, “Oh, come to us,
Join us in fighting this terrible thing -
But give all you have and are to our keeping,
And you need never again know fear . . .”
* * *
All in a moment, she makes her choice:
Unslinging her rifle as she does,
She drops below the great, high chest
Of bone-naked, h’ant-mad Marhi Llywd -
With the first shot, she drops the mournful dark man,
The second brings down the leering redhead.
She rolls back to her feet, clutching for support -
And finds It in a long, silver horn
Springing suddenly from Marhi Llywd’s skull -
That the Night-Mare is the Unicorn,
Eternal, omnipotent, incarnate Grace.
She stands erect at Its golden-furred side,
Exhausted and ancient from a cold second’s choice . . .
And on fire with joy and ancient Life,
Reborn on the horn of the Unicorn
And the awe-ful gold radiance of Its gaze.
* * *
Its banshee cry spears into the sky;
Like razors, Its cloven hooves tear at the light
Flooding down from the Sun on Its plunging back,
And It slashes at her breasts,
Drawing despairing blood with acid-edged cuts -
And she mingles Its ringing cries with her own,
And paws at the Earth with cloven hooves:
Golden-horned, silver-haired, she cleaves to Its side
As It plunges on madly into the hills,
Going Home with It to sapphire skies,
Diamond clouds, emerald meadows,
To a crystalline heaven of winds and rivers,
Hills and valleys sweet with wild grass,
East of the Sun, West of the Moon,
Deeper than Darkness, higher than Light,
Beneath stone and sea, beyond the edge
Of the world and time and Eternity.
Its great fangs nip now and then at her flanks,
Urging her on to freedom and Home,
Beyond the reach of those who kill Fear -
And their terrible dogs with dead, evil eyes . . .
Beyond, as well, those who jail Fear
To make it their slave-master, using it
To tame into herd-beasts those who still hope,
Chivvying them into corrals
Where neither Fear nor gray Despair
Can ever again find a way to escape.
It rushes her onward with platinum wails
And stabbing horn and razor-edged hooves -
And the farther they run, the more these become
Caresses, endearments rather than wounds,
A promise of love and fertility . . .
Of fillies piebald in silver and gold,
And sunset-maned, snow-coated, star-hornèd colts.
And they rage and they rend
And they reel and they plunge
Outward to Planets careening madly
Around gigantic Stars like vast, scattered gemstones,
Wailing down trails blazed by Pan’s tearing hooves,
Growing huger and wilder with each frantic leap,
Forever at last beyond all the hells
Built by wizened minds, fueled by poisoned hearts.
A red-haired man with a face like a pike,
Who sits a lava-black horse, to her right,
Waves her on from under towering spruce
By a poisoned stream all dead and foul;
A black-haired man with great, sad eyes,
Who holds the reins of a chestnut mare,
Calls mournfully to her, from her left,
By a cactus-patch near a serene lake:
Before her, a huge apparition rears,
The bleached skeleton of a long-dead mare,
The wild Night-Mare, riderless,
Queen of the dark and the bowels of fear,
Her rotten hooves and long, poisoned fangs
Slashing like razors so close to her face -
Where will help come from? where can she flee?
Who can save her from Marhi Llywd?
* * *
She has a long rifle slung at her back:
Can she retrieve and load it in time?
And what use are Life’s weapons against the Dead?
Can the two who call her from left and right
Come to her rescue from so far away?
She looks up into that fleshless mouth
And sees her death grinning at her
With tombstone-tall teeth. Yet there is still time
To run, to choose - what should she do?
How can she save herself? Will she do it?
* * *
The fair, lean redhead with eyes so foul
Whispers, “Darling, I will rescue you -
But give all you have and are to my keeping,
And you will never again know fear . . .”
The sad, dark man calls, “Oh, come to us,
Join us in fighting this terrible thing -
But give all you have and are to our keeping,
And you need never again know fear . . .”
* * *
All in a moment, she makes her choice:
Unslinging her rifle as she does,
She drops below the great, high chest
Of bone-naked, h’ant-mad Marhi Llywd -
With the first shot, she drops the mournful dark man,
The second brings down the leering redhead.
She rolls back to her feet, clutching for support -
And finds It in a long, silver horn
Springing suddenly from Marhi Llywd’s skull -
That the Night-Mare is the Unicorn,
Eternal, omnipotent, incarnate Grace.
She stands erect at Its golden-furred side,
Exhausted and ancient from a cold second’s choice . . .
And on fire with joy and ancient Life,
Reborn on the horn of the Unicorn
And the awe-ful gold radiance of Its gaze.
* * *
Its banshee cry spears into the sky;
Like razors, Its cloven hooves tear at the light
Flooding down from the Sun on Its plunging back,
And It slashes at her breasts,
Drawing despairing blood with acid-edged cuts -
And she mingles Its ringing cries with her own,
And paws at the Earth with cloven hooves:
Golden-horned, silver-haired, she cleaves to Its side
As It plunges on madly into the hills,
Going Home with It to sapphire skies,
Diamond clouds, emerald meadows,
To a crystalline heaven of winds and rivers,
Hills and valleys sweet with wild grass,
East of the Sun, West of the Moon,
Deeper than Darkness, higher than Light,
Beneath stone and sea, beyond the edge
Of the world and time and Eternity.
Its great fangs nip now and then at her flanks,
Urging her on to freedom and Home,
Beyond the reach of those who kill Fear -
And their terrible dogs with dead, evil eyes . . .
Beyond, as well, those who jail Fear
To make it their slave-master, using it
To tame into herd-beasts those who still hope,
Chivvying them into corrals
Where neither Fear nor gray Despair
Can ever again find a way to escape.
It rushes her onward with platinum wails
And stabbing horn and razor-edged hooves -
And the farther they run, the more these become
Caresses, endearments rather than wounds,
A promise of love and fertility . . .
Of fillies piebald in silver and gold,
And sunset-maned, snow-coated, star-hornèd colts.
And they rage and they rend
And they reel and they plunge
Outward to Planets careening madly
Around gigantic Stars like vast, scattered gemstones,
Wailing down trails blazed by Pan’s tearing hooves,
Growing huger and wilder with each frantic leap,
Forever at last beyond all the hells
Built by wizened minds, fueled by poisoned hearts.