just  off the coast  to  the  baltic sea 
   there's a freshwater pond, secluded    
 among ashen and  juniper. a cleft in the 
   limestone bedrock, sharp-cut from the  
   surrounding plains, a ninety degree    
 drop  down, down, to the  midnight-black 
                  water.                  
                                          
                          
                                  
     fairies live here.     
                                  
                          
                                          
 they speak  to  the  sloane,  caress it, 
 urge it to  grow thicker, tangled,  with 
 longer  and sharper thorns. they tell it 
 to stay just below  the grass,  so  that 
 the  animals  what  come  to  drink  the 
 water cannot  see  it  before  it  draws 
 their blood. closer  to  the  pond,  the 
 sloane can  grow taller, being  able  to 
        hide also in the juniper.         
                                          
 the fairies  will beckon the  animals to 
 push  forward,  tell  them that  they're 
 almost  at  the  water,  that  they  may 
 drink soon. and  they  will  tug  on the 
 sloane to make  sure that the thorns cut 
 deep.  when  they finally find  the path 
 down between the rocks,  away  from  the 
 bushwork and  into  the  cleft, they are 
 bleeding  from  a  thousand  wounds.  as 
 they  drink  from the dark  water, it is 
 in  turn  drinking  the  animals  blood. 
                                          
 the  circle  is  complete, the  contract 
 carried out; the animal is abandoned  to 
 find its own way back. the  bushes roots 
 drink  the nutrutious water. the fairies 
          dance in the sunbeams.