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.