The Messenger Ensnared, by Lisa Bradley
Wounded,
I sink into your flowerbed,
succumb to enchanted sleep.
Purple ropes lash all four legs
to the worm-rich ground
and lavender stink invades my dreams.
Grackles laugh. My tail twitches at the sound.
Waking,
I wince at cold needles,
damn the rain that dissolves
my auburn fur and vulpine claws.
Mind and message melting,
I now resolve: these dregs shall poison
your salvia, fell your foxgloves bright and tall.
Lisa Bradley has sold poetry to GUD, Strange Horizons, and Bull Spec. You can find more of Stephen Lippay’s photography at  http://ajourneyinimagery.blogspot.com/, or at http://www.flickr.com/photos/slippay/collections/.
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