Flora Hex

It’s a burning under my skin,

gnawing at my brain to scratch

away the heat, to run to the faucet

and bathe my face up to the neck.

A curse for ignoring the tears

of the shrubs I cut back

so I never go near them again.

The Dragon Tree

On a rock

far out in the ocean, sits

a tree.

Its trunk is

sturdy, like the

very rock itself.

And for good reason.

Instead of lush, flowing leaves adorning delicate branches that drift

to and fro

in the wind,

there are dragons.

Small, scaled balls of energy

with wings.

Their span is but a foot,

but the underside of those mighty beaters

shimmers like a plate of

mother-of-pearl.

Gripping the branches with

wrinkled, long-clawed toes,

the dragons feast on

tangy sap, ready to

take to the evening sky

for their task of catching the smokey, iridescent tears

of the moon

to fertilize the tree’s hungry roots.