The Risk of the Crelfet

With body, a plump and silent pillow,

Small as a sugar cube and bending in,

Oar-like tails of glass propel him onward.

Manifestations of street lamps in lavender eyes,

The Crelfet sleeps only in May, atop sunset's evergreens,

And dreams of beautiful, toxic breath.

Taste, so dangerous to acquire,

From the lips of soft reptiles, angry gazelles,

Smokestacks and gun barrels,

He desires to drink on the fumes of all.

The Crelfet's hunger jeopardizes,

But fear is not his asset, nor his game.

He sways near mouths, near fatality,

Too light to escape a gasp or vehementbreeze,

Threatened by reduction to pure granules and light

By that which he so craves.

Safe, unknowing, the Crelfet dives,

Snaps upwards and sneaks into a glimmer,

Today, a fresh reflection of the midday sun.