ALTARPIECE: THE DRAGON

Its wings were leather,
useless for flight.  The saint's horse
beat down its talons.
And the saurian throat
launched blasphemies, not flame,
as the highland steel tore through.
Blood flowed, and stillness.  The air
reeked of God's will:  it
entered the cave with the saint,
the girl there waking from prayers.

—Carl Brennan

Another poem by Carl Brennan is online here.

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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