The Same Bloom

I love maps, especially old maps, maps that represent a world full of magic and monsters.

Old Maps

I’d like to man a small boat
adrift on a placid sea
that rises and falls,

the chest of a sleeping god,
as leviathan rises
from the black fathoms,

the cold, black heart,
a coiled snake uncoiling,
like the monsters sketched

on old maps, its scales
the shades of iridescence,
its head as familar as an angry dog’s,

tooth and snarl, glimpse my face
in the wet mirror of its eyes,
smell its breath, brine and bile,

and discover, as it streams toward me,
that fear is more a flower
than a beast, bright and delicate,

that life and death
are nothing more than petals
on the same bloom.


5 thoughts on “The Same Bloom

  1. Oh S.T.! That quite took my breath away. I LOVED it! I do fancy your poems like this one. Especially liked: “and glimpse my face in the wet mirror of its eyes,” What a picture — up close and personal — that created! 😀


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