The Old Dragon
Ingrid
Barnes
I pushed through the icy air.
The inky sky leaked out into the dusk.
And the dragon hauled itself up the hill behind me.
Heaving and shuddering, it dragged its awkward haunches
after it.
Its many windows were shrouded in grey pleated curtains,
Frailly attempting to keep the night at bay.
Except for one warm bright square,
Where orange fingers fluttered behind breath-frosted glass.
Waxy moths in fog.
I waved back.