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.