Glimmering

Glimmering

Dana Cooper 1/30/2011

Snow sprinkled across muddy fields,
powdered sugar on chocolate cake.
Shattered stalks rattle in a bitter wind,
cold pink sky behind, only grey ahead.

The old lion stalks through his dreams,
lord of his pride, first at the feast.
Once he brought the elephant down,
now the old lion has lost his teeth.

A city of geese stand vigil in the dirty slush of the hospital grounds,
silent and statue still.
A mantle of crows blacken the white bones of the sycamore trees
and they call, all at once,
the old lion has lost his teeth.

He lies strapped to his metal bed.
I hold a sponge of cool water to his cracked murmuring lips.
His speckled forehead, an eclipsing sun, burns beneath my hand.
The old lion has lost his teeth.

Talon fists clench, unclench, relentlessly.
Withered legs, aching sticks, march in place.
He sees a jungle glimmering, blood red against bright green.
Birds burst from limbs trumpeting.
The old lion has lost his teeth.