your mother the protector
of rivers, silk for hair and
knives for teeth. body burning but
head remains, grey scales illuminated red.
the saints mount her to the walls of
your room, fear our god or
face her fate.

His life spinning inward,
  to its center returned

A whirlwind of intent,
—through the maelstrom it churned

His end was beginning,
  as the last became first

All time banished outward
—evil Gargouille dispersed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)