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.