Monday, September 11, 2006
'Drow Trees" by Keith Harvey
On the back of a mule, with hounds at heel
-seven in all-he fled the farm and found a fort.
Hidden within its walls, he exchanged draped denim
for lamb’s wool robes and alchemical arts.
Once he scryed a drow pulling rotten teeth,
planting a pine cone with each tooth.
Beneath a larch he turned to stone.