WATERMARK

  This week’s prompt is Moon Island, which I used for another long-lines exercise. Again, I’ve done it as an image; click it to bring it up larger.

Below the cut, the poem in text, with broken lines:

This is a simple house, but it has a moat. In a circle around it, a moat. Deep beneath the ice, an ancient
crocodile rests its four-chambered heart, waiting. Sleeping in the water, the crocodile dreams of warm-

blooded animals. It dreams of feathers. Ravens call down to it, a mocking, an unkindness. The crocodile
sharpens its teeth on stones. This house is not a castle, but above the steep and ordinary roof rises

an imaginary tower, with the obligatory dragon, the necessary maiden. Day passing day, they play out
the required scenes. Dragon spits fire, maiden swoons in fear, both are caught in their metal net of drama.

When night’s curtain drops, they curl together in sleep. She drowses in the curve of his dangerous tail,
he snores his smoky breath. The round moon sheds its reflected light down to their shared chamber.

The moonlight falls like thin snow. The imaginary tower glistens with stars. The barred and leaded windows
waver in the moonlight. Owls fly from the turrets. The actual moon this night, above this ordinary house,

is falling away from full, a waning moon, a gibbous moon. This winter night quietly fills with snow. All
the creatures of this plain house sleep. The dungeons in the basement are silent. The sky holds its stars.