Under those heads, an argument of coils,
Protean, polymorphous, serpentine.
Hot breath, bared teeth: the questioning is mine,
The questions not. I strike. A neck recoils,
Gives way before my answer. Thus I hack
Into the bloated flesh of it: thus, thus.
Winged helmet, carven shield: the fabulous
Purity, grace and swiftness of attack!
And still the heads. Day breaks. And no respite.
The questions, now I flag, metamorphose,
The asker changes, then the monster goes,
And still the coils are there, a wraith in light.
I rise, I dress for work; blunt sword, cracked shield.
No more than whisper and the worm’s revealed.