Moist geometry unfurls.
Dawn flushes the birds
from their silence

— hectic petticoats trimmed
with disappearing mist —
and there, under a shaggy hem

of pines, the monster Grendel
stealing home, mouth full
of pinking shears.

His rough palm grips the bruised
root of a plant torn
from a mountainside

releasing scent of a more
legendary bloom.
His pelt

glistens, the girl's words
trapped moths
in his uncomprehending ears.

Wings of flowers
fall and star
the path behind him

as he travels
swiftly over the ground
breathing breathing.