Legend | Ellaine Beronio

It’s as if overnight                                                                                                                     The mountain grew
Prim. At dawn
Workers found it
Cloaked in clouds,
Fog lace draped over
Its breasts, a white
Sash declaring
Something’s concealed.

But he doesn’t need
Hiding, her husband
No one has seen
In almost two days,
His foot broken, or
A part of him pierced,
The blood
A trickle of liquid
On that surge of earth,
The whole length
Of him a reed
Among the aged trees.

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