a journal of fantastical poetry


by Mike Allen

The column of the golem's neck
interrupts the cloud cover,
its shoulders mountain high,
its face forever unseen,
the tower of its body shading
our valley as far back 
as our books remember.

Beneath its feet we burrow
to mine iron ore and silver,
marvel at the whorls of its soles.

We pray our generation 
will never see it move,
all our dreams buried beneath 
that calamitous first step.

October 31st, 2015

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