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.