Above, the flying machine / wing tracks span between rowan and birch /
maintaining territory / new expansion /
the steel-trap beak a golden ratio curving into my nape
running, the snow’s metallic squelch / the air
a biting slobber of fermented shark / running
out of fur
on volcanic seamounts
in the bioluminescence of the bone-house
*scale worms fight for the sky candle*
of sequined armor
like Grendel’s arm
as ancient mariners
dig through root cellars
blind as bats.
*is this a saga?
your transparent skull
giant eye cast heavenward
suckers, tips, suction
bummock keel the bruised dregs.
Kraken icebergs calved from glaciers leave melting footprints on the sea.
My runic body casts no shadow / Have I outfoxed the sun?